/,  ^5-.  2.5 


LIBRARY  OF  THE  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 


PRINCETON,  N.  J, 


BV  4905  .T5  1869 

Thayer,  Thomas  Baldwin,  181 

-1886. 
Over  the  river 


OVER  THE  RIYEE; 


Wmmi  Mallis  mt0  11]^  Mlt^  d  S^oto, 


AND    BEYOISTD: 


A  BOOK  OF  CONSOLATIONS   TOR  TILE    SICK,  THE 
DYING,  AND  THE  BEREAVED. 


BY  THOMAS  BALDWIN  THAYER. 


BOSTON: 

TJNIVEESALIST    PUBLISHING    HOUSE, 

No.    37    CORNHILL. 

1869. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1864,  by 

TOMPKINS    &    COMPANY, 

i»  In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Maasa 
chusetts. 


TO 


THE  IVIEMORY  OP 


ABEL    TOMPKINS, 

AT   WHOSE  REQUEST  IT  WAS  UNDERTAKEN, 


THIS     VOLUME 


IS    AFFECTIONATELY   INSCRIBED. 


PR.EFACE. 


Beside  those  named  in  the  title-page,  this  little 
volume  has  two  objects  specially  in  view  — 

Fii'st:  To  present  the  subject  of  death  in  its  true 
light ;  to  show  that  the  Scriptures  speak  of  it  cheer- 
fully, and  in  pleasant  phrase ;  to  establish  the  fact 
that,  as  a  rule,  it  is  not  attended  either  with  the 
mental  terror,  or  the  extreme  physical  suffering,  com- 
monly ascribed  to  it  —  and  thus  to  remove  that  dread 
of  dying  which  oppresses  the  minds  and  hearts  of 
so  many  truly  good  persons,  and  is  the  cause  of 
no  little  unhappiness  to  all  who  are  passing  down  to 
the  banks  of  the  river  of  death. 

Second  :  To  offer  for  the  consideration  of  the 
thoughtful  believer,  more  elevated  and  satisfactory 
views  of  the  future  state  than  prevail  generally  among 
Christians.  When  we  consider  the  extent,  the  gran- 
deur and  variety  of  the  material  universe,  the  count- 
less worlds  which  throng  the  abysses  of  space; 
it  is   surely  reasonable  to  suppose   that,  since  we 


VI  PEEFACE. 

cannot,  while  in  the  body,  behold  the  wonders  of 
God's  creative  power  as  displayed  in  these,  we 
shall  be  permitted  to  visit  them  out  of  the  body. 
It  is  difficult  to  believe  that  with  all  these  glories 
of  God's  creation  calling  to  us  from  afar,  we  shall 
remain  in  any  one  place,  singing  hymns  and  play- 
ing on  golden  harps  through  eternal  ages,  and  think 
this  heaven  —  whatever  the  meaning  we  attach  to 
these  expressions. 

The  book  is  sent  forth  as  a  Comforter,  in  these 
times  when  so  many  need  comfort  and  courage  and 
faith,  with  a  prayer  that  the  blessing  of  God  may 
attend  it  on  its  mission  of  mercy. 

Boston,  May,  1864. 


CONTENTS 


I. 

(Jmtifort  for  the  Sick. 

THE  REVELATIONS  OF  SICKNESS, ,  11 

REASONS  FOR  THANKFULNESS, 26 

GOOD  IN  EVIL, 84 

THE  BLESSING  OF  A  CHEERFUL  PIETY, 42 

IS  THY  HOUSE  IN  ORDER?..- 64 

INSPIRED  3IEDITATI0NS    FOR  THE  SICK  CHAMBER, 61 

DIVINE  CONSOLATIONS    FOR  THE  SICK, 66 


II. 

Bevelations  for  the  Dying. 

"OVER  THE  RIVER," 75 

THE  EARTHLY  TENT  — THE   HEAVENLY  HOUSE, 85 

FALLING  ASLEEP, S8 

THE  DEATH  OF  THE  BODY  THE  LIFE  OF  THE  SPIRIT,.. 107 


O  CONTENTS. 

THE    PASSAGE   OP    THE  RIVER  AND  THE    PREPARATION 

FOR  IT, 119 

THE  WORLD   BEYOND    THE   RIVER,    OR    THE    GLORY   OF 

THE   CELESTIAL, 129 

EMPLOYMENTS  OF  THE  FUTURE  LIFE, 137 

THE  ATTRACTIONS  OF  HEAVEN^ 150 

ATTRACTIONS  OF  EARTH, 159 

THE  DYING  DO  NOT  SUFFER, 171 


III. 

I 

Consolations  for  the  Bereaved. 

THE  LESSONS  OF   SORROW, 187 

THE  SOUL'S   HUNGER  AND  THE  BREAD  OF  HEAVEN,....  193 

THROUGH  TRIBULATION    INTO  THE  KINGDOM, 200 

PEACE  IN  BELIEVING, 210 

DEATH  OF  HUSBAND    OR  WIFE. 217 

COMFORT  THE   CHILDREN, 228 

THE   DEATH   OF  CHILDREN, 235 

THE  MEMORY  OF  THE   DEAD, 248 

THE  DEAD  NEVER  GROW  OLD, 256 

"THE    VALLEY    OF    PEACE,"    OR    THE    PLACE    OF    THE 

DEAD 263 


/j0aEf0rt   f0i!r 


The  Lord  will  strengthen  him  upon  the  bed  of  languishing: 
thou  wilt  make  all  his  bed  in  sickness.— Psalm  xli.  3. 


Chamber  of  sickness  I  much  to  thee  I  owe. 

Though  dark  thou  be; 
The  lessons  it  imports  me  most  to  know, 

I  owe  to  thee  I 
A  sacred  seminary  thou  hast  been, 
I  trust,  to  train  me  for  a  happier  scene. 

Chamber  of  sickness  1  suffering  and  alone, 

The  world  Avithdrawn, 
The  blessed  beams  of  lieavenly  truth  have  shone 

On  me,  forlorn, 
With  such  a  hallowed  vividness  and  power, 
As  ne'er  were  granted  to  a  brighter  hour. 


I. 


In  silence  will  I  bear  the  pain 

Which  God  has  sent  me  by  his  will ; 
Ne'er  will  I  murmur  nor  complain  ; 

Although  he  wounds,  he  loves  me  still. 
In  sickness  not  the  less  God's  child 
Than  if  the  world  around  me  smiled. 
True  to  himself,  God  changes  never — 
Wise,  mighty,  merciful,  forever. 

HE  lesson  of  suffering  is,  of  all  others, 
the  most  reluctantly  learned;  and  yet 
it  has  often  proved  the  most  instructive 
and  beneficial  of  all,  bringing  with  it  bless- 
ings which  abide  with  us  tlu'ough  life  and 
death,  and  reach  over  even  into  the  immortal 
sphere — ''for  our  light  affliction,  which  is  but 
for  a  moment,  worketh  for  us  a  far  more  ex- 
ceeding and  eternal  weight  of  glory."     Sick- 


12         THE  REVELATIONS   OF   SICKNESS. 

ness,  sorrow,  bereavement,  death,  are  but  the 
servants  of  God,  teaching  us  heavenly  things, 
revealing  to  us  the  mystery  of  Divine  Love 
forever  educing  good  from  evil;  and  finally 
leading  us  up  into  the  heavenly  heights,  whose 
clearer  atmosphere  enables  us  to  see  things 
in  their  true  relations,  and  to  discern  afar  off 
the  beneficent  results  of  our  present  trials. 

And  yet,  believing  this,  we  do  not  love  sor- 
row, we  do  not  choose  suffering,  because  of 
any  good  it  may  secure  us.  This  is  not  sur- 
prising, when  we  consider  the  weakness  and 
bhndness  of  human  nature.  The  boy  who 
does  not  wish  to  go  to  school,  still  wishes  for 
the  knowledge  which  is  the  fruit  of  diligent 
study.  So  we  do  not  like  to  suffer ;  but  we 
rejoice  in  the  new  life  and  heavenly-minded- 
ness  which  often  are  the  product  of  it.  We 
thank  God  for  the  gift  of  immortal  life ;  yet 
we  do  not  like  death,  which  is  the  only  gate 
that  leads  to  it.  We  believe  in  the  ineffable 
joys  of  heaven,  but  we  still  cling  to  the  com- 
paratively poor  and  transient  joys  of  earth. 


THE    REVELATIONS   OF  SICKNESS.         13 

This  is  well,  for  if  there  were  no  natural  dread 
of  death,  no  instinctive  shrinking  from  its  touch, 
we  should  desert  the  post  of  duty,,  and  rashly 
fling  life  away  on  the  first  occasion  of  grief  or 
misfortune.  As  it  is,  the  matter  is  so  dispos- 
ed by  the  Lord  of  life  and  death,  that,  as  a 
rule,  however  difficult  our  duties,  however 
great  our  sorrows,  we  are  willing  to  stay; 
while,  at  the  same  time,  he  has  given  us  such 
blessed  hopes  and  consolations  that,  rightly 
accepted,  we  are  willing  to  go  when  he  calls 
us. 

And  so,  my  suffering  friend,  it  is  not  a 
matter  of  wonder,  that  you  cannot  welcome 
sickness  and  bodily  pain,  or  that  you  find 
them  hard  to  bear,  even  though  you  may 
believe  they  are  not  wholly  evil.  But  that 
the  burthen  may  be  lightened,  let  us  com- 
mune together  for  a  little  of  the  things  which 
the  Lord  hath  spoken  for  your  comfort  and 
encouragement;  and  of  the  benefits  coming 
from  affliction  accepted  in  an  humble  and 
teachable   spirit.      And, 


14         THE    REVELATIONS    OF   SICKNESS. 

First:  Sickness  reveals  to  every  one  the 
need  of  religious  culture,  and  the  value  of 
religious  faith ;  and  one  of  Its  obvious  bene- 
fits is  that  it  affords  opportunity  for  reflec- 
tion and  meditation  on  this  important  theme. 
It  may  be  that  you  have  not  hitherto  given 
much  ^bought  to  religious  things,  to  the 
Bible,  to  God,  to  the  nature  and  needs  of 
your  own  soul.  The  world,  its  cares,  and 
gains,  and  ambitions,  have  wholly  engrossed 
your  attention ;  and  spiritual  things  have  been, 
pushed  aside,  forgotten  or  driven  out  of  mind 
in  the  hurry  and  eager  rush  of  your  worldly 
life.  Possibly  it  has  never  seriously  occur- 
red to  you  that  sickness  and  suffering  and 
death  might  fall  to  your  lot ;  that  tliis  life  is 
brief  at  the  longest ;  and  that,  by  and  by,  you 
must  pass  on  *'over  the  river,"  and  leave 
behind  you  all  you  have,  and  all  you  love. 

But  now  you  will  have  time  to  think  of 
these  tilings ;  and  you  will  discover  that  you 
are  not  quite  sufficient  for  yourself;  that 
health  and  strength  may  suddenly  depart,  and 


THE   REVELATIONS   OF  SICKNESS.         15 

the  frail  thread  of  life  be  snapped  at  any 
moment,  and  that  it  is  wise  to  be  prepared 
for 'it.  Prostrated  upon  the  bed  of  sickness, 
withdrawn  from  the  excitements  and  interests 
which  have  so  long  held  you  in  bondage,  a 
favorable  and  fitting  season  is  granted  you  for 
self-communion  and  reflection  on  these  grave 
and  paramount  questions.  And,  brought  face 
to  face  with  the  great  realities,  you  will  begin 
to  prepare  for  the  new  experience  bom  of 
them,  in  an  earnest  and  humble  spirit,  —  and 
then  the  blessing  is  not  afar  off*. 

Second:  This  sickness  will  reveal  to  you 
your  entire  and  constant  dependence  on  God ; 
and  how  it  is  that  you  live,  and  move,  and 
have  all  your  blessings,  in  him.  Through  all 
these  years  God  has  been  your  support  and 
protection,  the  source  of  life  and  health,  and 
the  giver  of  every  good  and  perfect  gift  you 
have  enjoyed.  But  how  often  have  you  re- 
membered him  with  gratitude  and  thanksgiv- 
ing for  these  blessings  ?  How  often  have  you 
sought  the  guidance  of  his  wisdom,  the  bless- 


16         THE   REVELATIONS   OF   SICKNESS. 

ing  of  his  holy  spirit?  How  often  have  you 
prayed  for  strength  to  overcome  the  tempta- 
tions and  to  bear  the  trials  which  might  meet 
you  in  the  difficult  paths  of  life?  But  now 
you  will  think  of  God.  Weak  and  feeble, 
and  suffering  under  the  hand  of  disease,  you 
will  tm-n  to  him  for  comfort  and  strength; 
and  you  will  find  him  a  very  present  help  in 
time  of  trouble,  for  the  ear  of  the  Lord  is 
ever  open  to  them  that  call  upon  him. 

And  what  a  blessed  thing  it  is,  even  at 
the  cost  of  sickness  and  bodily  anguish,  to  be 
able  to  shake  off  the  entanglements  of  the 
world ;  and  worn,  weary  and  fainting,  to  lie, 
as  it  were,  on  the  bosom  of  the  Father,  to 
feel  his  supporting  arm  underneath  you,  and 
to  hear  his  voice  speaking  to  you  in  the 
silence  and  saying  :  * '  Fear  not ;  when  thou 
passest  through  the  waters  I  will  be  with 
thee;  and  through  the  rivers,  they  shall  not 
overflow  thee ;  when  thou  walkest  through 
the  fire,  thou  shalt  not  be  burned,  neither 
shall  the  flame  kindle  upon  thee ;  for  I  ha^e 


THE   REVELATIONS   OF   SICKNESS.         17 

redeemed  thee,  I  have  called  thee  by  thy 
name ;  thou  art  mine."  This  is  the  promise 
of  the  Lord  to  all  who  seek  him  in  the  time 
of  need.  He  is  a  sm^e  refuge  and  defence  in 
all  our  troubles ;  our  strength,  our  peace  and 
joy,  our  health,  our  life,  our  all.  And  that 
sickness  is  a  blessing  which  leads  the  sufferer 
to  the  experimental  test  of  this  truth,  and 
reveals  to  him  that  his  highest  life,  his  su- 
preme good,  is  in  God,  and  lies  infinitely 
above  the  health  or  sickness,  the  life  or  death, 
of  the  body. 

Lean,  then,  upon  the  strong  arm  of  the 
Father,  and  let  yom'  soul  open  out  toward 
him  in  holy  communion,  as  the  fainting  flower 
opens  to  receive  the  welcome  and  refreshing 
rain.  Let  this  affliction  draw  you  unto  him 
through  Christ,  and  you  will  find  all  and 
more  than  you  seek.  In  the  quiet  of  your 
chamber,  in  the  secret  sanctuary  of  the  spirit, 
lift  up  the  prayer  of  faith  and  trust;  and 
you  will  feel  ere  long  that  the  peace  of  God 
is  finding  its  way  into  your  heart,  and  the 


18         THE    EEYELATIONS    OF   SICKNESS. 

grace  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Clirist  making  the 
burthen  lighter  and  easier  to  bear  every  day. 

O  there  is  no  experience  of  the  soul  so 
sweet  and  comforting,  so  divinely  beautiful, 
as  that  wliich  brings  us,  through  sorrow  and 
suffering,  into  this  close  relation  with  our 
Heavenly  Father ;  and  by  which  we  are  able 
to  recognize  the  touch  and  pressure  of  his  arm 
as  it  passes  under  us  to  hold  us  up  in  our 
weakness.  To  lie  down  upon  it,  and  cease 
from  all  effort  and  strucrs^le ;  to  feel  that  it 
is  not  your  own,  but  God's  strength  that 
sustains  you ;  to  feel  a  sweet  calm  diffused 
through  all  your  being,  that  perfect  peace 
passing  knowledge  or  expression;  to  be  pa- 
tient and  strong  under  suffering,  and  Imow  all 
the  time  that  you  never  could  feel  thus  by 
your  own  unaided  effort ;  that  it  is  all  of  the 
Lord's  mercy  and  goodness,  that  he  helps 
you,  holds  you  in  his  arms,  and  does  every 
thing  for  you ;  and  that  therefore  all  weari- 
ness is  gone,  and  all  the  anguish  of  suffer- 
ing, and  the  bitterness  of  death,  and  notliing 


THE   EEYELATTONS   OF   SICKNESS.         19 

now  can  disturb  you  evermore.  O,  when  this 
heavenly  height  is  reached,  however  rough 
and  dark  the  path  that  leads  to  it,  we  are 
thankful  to  have  trodden  it.  This  divine  calm 
which  possesses  the  soul,  is  more  than  an 
equivalent  for  all  that  we  have  suffered. 
And  we  feel  that  out  of  our  hearts  we  can 
truly  bless  God  for  that  sickness  and  pain 
which  have  thus  brought  us  into  the  fellow- 
ship of  his  Spirit ;  for  that  sorrow  which  has 
brightened  now  into  everlasting  peace. 

Third :  This  sorrow  will  reveal  to  you  the 
greatness  and  tenderness  of  the  Saviour's  love, 
and  bring  you  into  closer  sympathy  with 
him;  for  he  was  '*a  man  of  sorrows  and  ac- 
quainted with  grief,"  and  is  therefore  * '  touch- 
ed with  the  feeling  of  oiu*  infirmities,"  and 
'^in  that  he  himself  hath  suffered"  he  is 
able  and  ready  to  succor  them  that  come 
to  him.  Hence  he  says,  "Come  unto  me 
all -ye  that  labor  and  are  heavy-laden,  and 
I  will  give  you  rest :  take  my  yoke  upon 
you,  and  learn  of  me ;  for  my  yoke  is  easy, 


20         THE    EEVELATIOXS    OF   SICKjSFESS. 

and  my  burden  is  ligiit,  and  ye  shall  find  rest 
unto  your  souls."  Tlicre  is  something  affect- 
inai:  in  the  thouoiit  that  Jesus  has  trodden  all 
the  paths  of  suffering  humanity,  tasted  every 
cup  of  bitterness,  and  at  last  met  death  in 
its  most  fearful  form  —  all  ■  for  us ;  that  he 
might  know  how  to  pity  us  in  our  grief  and 
anguish,  and  to  comfort  us  in  our  distresses, 
and  how  to  strengthen  and  encourage  us  in 
the  day  of  death,  and  give  us  victory  over 
the  grave.  O,  how  much  nearer  and  dearer 
he  seems  to  us  on  this  account ;  how  much 
greater  our  confidence  and  affection,  and  hovsr 
are  we  comforted  and  strengthened  in  all  our 
afflictions,  when  we  think  of  this  sublime  sac- 
rifice for  our  good ! 

Let  this  season  of  affliction,  then,  direct 
your  thoughts  to  the  meek  and  gentle  One, 
the  Divine  Sufferer,  "who  was  made  a  little 
lower  than  the  angels  for  the  suffering  of 
death,  and  crowned  with  glory  and  honor, 
that  he  by  the  grace  of  God  should  taste 
death  for  every  man."     Think  of  him  as  the 


THE   EEVELATIONS   OF   SICKNESS.         21 

Comforter  and  tlie  example  of  all  who  suffer ; 
and  remember  with  what  sweetness  and  pa- 
tience he  bore  his  burthens,  saying,  meekly, 
* '  the  cup  which  my  Father  giveth  me  shall  I 
not  drink  it?"  And  remember,  too,  that  he 
is  still  near  to  all  who  will  call  upon  him ; 
that  now,  as  of  old,  he  is  *' passing  by," 
and  is  ready  to  heal  and  to  bless  every  suf- 
fering soul. 

Watcher,  who  wakest  by  the  bed  of  pain, 
While  the  stars  sweep  on  in  their  midnight  traia. 
Stifling  the  tear  for  thy  loved  one's  sake, 
Holding  thy  breath  lest  his  sleep  should  break, 
In  thy  lowliest  hour  there's  a  helper  nigh  — 

Jesus  of  Nazareth  passeth  by. 

Fading  one,  with  the  hectic  streak, 
And  the  veins  of  fire,  on  thy  wasted  cheek, 
Fearest  thou  the  shade  of  the  darkened  vale, 
Look  to  the  Guide  who  can  never  fail ; 
He  hath  trod  it  himself ;  he  will  hear  thy  sigh  — 
Jesus  of  Nazareth  paSseth  by. 

Mourner  who  sittest  in  the  churchyard  lone 
Scanning  the  lines  on  that  marble  stone, 
Plucking  the  weeds  from  the  grassy  bed, 
Planting  the  rose  and  the  myrtle  instead, 
Look  up  from  the  tomb  with  a  tearless  eye  — 

Jesus  of  Nazareth  passeth  by. 


22         THE    EEVELATIOXS   OF   SICKLE SS^, 

Fourth:  Sickness  reveals  tlie  value  of  tlia 
Bible  as  a  source  of  comfort  and  encourage- 
ment. There  is  a  beautiful  significance  in  the 
words  of  Yf alter  Scott,  vvlien  approaching 
death,  respecting  the  preciousness  of  the  Di- 
vine Scripture  to  the  sick  and  dying.  He 
had  requested  his  son-in-ldw  to  read  to  him ; 
and,  on  his  inquiring  what  boolz  he  should 
read  from,  the  sufferer  exclaimed,  as  he 
looked  up,  his  face  illuminated  vrith  a  heav- 
enly' expression,  <'What  book!  why,  my 
dear,  to  one  in  my  situation,  there  is  but 
one  book!"  There  is  pointed  truth  in  this. 
In  the  hour  of  our  greatest  need,  when  dis- 
ease and  pain  are  doing  their  sad  vrork  on 
the  burning  brain  and  the  throbbing  hearty 
when  the  spirit  and  the.  flesh  fail,  and  there 
is  no  help  in  man  —  it  is  not  the  revelations 
of  science  that  we  vrait  for,  but  the  Ee^'ela- 
tions  of  the  Gospel.  It  is  not  what  the  geol- 
ogist may  say  of  earth,  but  what  the  Spirit 
says  of  heaven ;  not  the  words  of  Plato  nor 
of  Bacon,  but  the  words  of  Jesus  and  PaTol^ 


THE    REVELATIONS    OF   SICKNESS.         23 

that  the  fainting  heart  welcomes  as  the  balm 
of  healing,  as  the  sweetest  and  the  only  com- 
fort it  knows.  In  that  hour,  in  that  condi- 
tion, truly  there  is  but  one  book  for  us.  All' 
others  are  valuable  only  as  they  serve  to 
illustrate  the  spirit  and  teachings  of  that,  and 
help  us  to  appropriate  to  our  own  needs  its 
divine  promises  and  consolations. 

And  how  rich  the  Bible  is  in  these  words 
of  eternal  life  and  peace.  And  now  that  you 
are  weary  and  distressed,  this  will  be  made 
manifest  unto  you,  and  the  sacred  volume 
will  become  a  lamp  to  your  feet  and  a  light 
to  your  path,  so  long  as  you  are  in  the  valley 
of  shadows.  It  will  be  to  you  as  a  new 
book,  every  page  seemingly  illuminated  with 
truth  especially  spoken  for  you;  every  testi- 
mony of  the  Father's  love,  every  promise  of 
comfort  and  divine  assistance,  coming  with 
a  fresh  meaning,  and  a  vronderful  adapted- 
ness  to  your  particular  condition  of  mind 
and  heart.  And  whatever  may  be  the  result 
of  tliis  sickness,  whether  you  stay  with  us,  or 


24         THE   REVELATIONS   OF   SICKNESS. 

go  to  join  the  departed  over  tlie  river,  it  wOl 
bestow  one  abiding  blessing,  if  it  lead  you 
thus  to  the  Fountain  of  Life,  the  wells  of 
living  water.  And  in  that  day  thou  shalt 
say,  ''O  Lord,  I  will  praise  thee:  though 
thou  hast  afflicted  me,  yet  thy  chastisement 
is  turned  away,  and  thou  hast  comforted  me» 
Behold,  God  is  my  salvation;  I  will  trust, 
and  not  be  afraid :  for  the  Lord  Jehovah  is 
my  strength  and  my  song ;  he  also  is  become 
my  salvation.  Therefore  with  joy  will  I  draw 
water  out  of  the  wells  of  salvation." 

Go  then,  thou  sick  and  weary  and  failing 
one,  go  to  the  word  of  God  for  strength  and 
resignation.  Turn  over  the  glowing  pages  of 
the  gospels,  linger  among  its  inspired  utter- 
ances, treasure  up  in  your  heart  the  sweet 
sayings  of  Jesus ;  and  you  will  find  the  sick 
bed  eased,  the  hours  of  pain  shortened,  the 
power  of  endurance  daily  increasing,  and  a 
calm  courage  and  a  holy  peace  possessing 
your  soul. 


THE    REVELATIONS    OF   SICKNESS.  25 

Of  health  and  strength  and  ease  bereft 
My  spirit  turns  to  Thee  — 

0  hast  thou  not  a  blessing  left, 
A  blessing,  Lord,  for  me  ? 

Behold  thy  prisoner— loose  my  bonds* 

If  'tis  thy  gracious  will, 
If  not,  0  make  me,  Lord,  content 

To  be  thy  prisoner  stiU ! 

1  may  not  to  thy  house  repair. 
Yet  here  thou  surely  art ; 

Lord,  consecrate  a  house  of  prayer 
In  my  surrendered  heart. 

To  faith  reveal  the  things  unseen : 

To  hope  the  joys  unfold ; 
Let  love,  without  a  veil  between, 

Thy  glory  now  behold. 
Oh !  make  thy  face  on  me  to  shin©, 

That  doubt  and  fear  may  cease ; 
Lift  up  thy  countenance  benign 

On  me,  and  give  me  peace. 


II. 


If  what  I  wish  thy  will  denies, 
It  is  that  thou  art  good  and  wise  ; 
Afflictions  which  may  make  me  mourn, 
Thou  canst,  thou  dost,  to  blessings  turn. 
Deep,  Lord,  upon  my  thankful  breast, 
Let  all  thy  favors  be  imprest ; 
And  though  withdrawn  thy  gifts  should  be, 
In  all  things  I'll  give  thanks  to  thee. 

ICK,  languisliing  and  despondent,  I 
lie  liere  througli  the  long  day,  and 
throiigli  tlie  longer  nlglit,  counting  tlie 
weary  hours  as  they  drag  heavily  by.  De- 
prived of  ease  and  comfort,  struggling  with 
bodily  pains,  with  the  burning  heat  of  the 
fever,  with  the  protracted  and  exhausting 
cough  of  consumption,  with  faintness  and  fee- 
bleness—  it  is  hard  to  bear  it  all  with  pa- 


REASONS  FOR  tha:xkfulness.         27 

tience  and  resignation.  It  is  liard  to  give  up 
heal  til  and  business,  all  the  duties  and  pleas- 
ures and  welcome  activities  of  life,  and  lie 
down  upon  the  bed  of  sickness  and  suiFering, 
and  perhaps  of  death. 

Yes,  but  after  all,  have  I  not  many  tilings 
to  be  thanlvful  for?  With  all  that  I  suiFer, 
have  I  not  much  to  comfort  me?  With  all 
the  blessings  taken,  are  there  not  many  more 
than  these  left  to  me  ?  What  cause  for  gTati- 
tude,  since  I  am  sick,  that  I  am  sick  at 
home,  among  my  own  kindred,  surrounded 
with  the  familiar  things  and  the  familiar  faces 
which  have  made  such  happiness  for  me  all 
my  life  long.  O  what  a  difference,  if  this 
sickness  had  come  upon  me  in  a  foreign  land, 
or  far  away  from  home,  among  strangers, 
with  no  friends  or  relatives  to  minister  to  my 
wants,  or  speak  sweet  words  of  consolation 
and  hope. 

Thanks  to  the  merciful  providence  of  God, 
since  this  affliction  has  come,  it  has  come 
under  circum ^stances  so  favorable,  and  so  well 


"5  TREASONS    rO?t    THANKFULNESS. 

calculated  to  liixliteD  the  burtlieii  of  it.  What 
a  comfort  it  is  to  see  the  dear  faces  of  those 
I  love,  to  hear  their  pleasant  voices,  to 
recognise  their  light  step  upon  the  floor, 
to  know  that  the  pain-assuaging  draught  is 
mixed,  and  held  to  my  lips,  by  the  hand  of 
affection.  How  it  helps  me  to  bear  my  pain, 
this  thoughtful  kindness,  this  constant  minis- 
tration of  patient,  never-tiring  love  !  How  it 
redeems  the  weariness  of  the  day,  and  peo- 
ples the  loneliness  of  the  night,  and  lights 
up  the  gloom  of  the  sick'  chamber.  And  if 
I  die,  O  how  blessed  it  is  to  die  among 
mine  own;  to  know  that,  as  my  eyes  grow 
dim,  their  last  look  will  be  of  those  ever  dear 
to  me ;  and  that  the  last  sounds  which  will 
linger  in  my  failing  ears,  will  be  the  sv^eet 
voices  of  the  beloved  who  have  given  to 
my  life  all  its  beauty  and  joy.  O  God,  my 
heavenly  Father,  I  thank  thee  for  these  mer- 
cies ;  and  though  in  thy  wisdom  thou  hast 
afflicted  me,  and  taken  back  some  of  thy  gifts, 
I  will  not  forget  the  many  precious  blessings 


KEASONS    FOR   THAFKFTTLNESS.  29 

left.  "^'Because  tlij  loving  kindness  is  better 
than  life,  my  lips  shall  praise  tliee." 

There  is  another  cause  for  thankfulness, 
blending  in  with  that  first  named,  which  also 
reveals  to  me  the  fact,  that  this  sickness  is  not 
wholly  evil.  Hitherto,  absorbed  in  my  own 
affairs,  anxious  for  my  own  interest,  and 
blessed  with  health,  I  have  thought  too  little 
of  others,  — the  sick  and  suffering  and  dying. 
I  have  seldom  visited  the  house  of  sorrow  and 
mourning,  seldom  spoken  a  word  of  sympathy 
to  those  in  affliction.  And  I  have  not  been 
prompt  to  offer  my  services  in  such  cases,^  and 
to  give  heed  to  the  many  little  duties  and 
attentions,  which  are  so  grateful  to  the  sick, 
and  serve  so  much  to  lighten  the  gloom,  and 
lift  up  the  vf  eight  of  suffering. 

I  am  thanldul  that  my  affliction  has  taught 
me  the  worth  of  these  things,  and  shown  me 
what  comfort  there  is  to  the  sick  in  words 
of  kindly  remembrance  and  inquiry,  in  the 
timely  visit,  in  the  delicate  attentions  of 
friends,  in  the  generous  fellowship  of  a  loving 


30  IlEASOXS    FOR    THANKFULNESS. 

spirit ;  in  a  word,  in  the  svreet  consciousness 
that,  all  around  there  are  hearts  beating  in 
every  pulse  with  sympathy,  with  earnest 
wishes  and  prayers  for  our  welfare.  I  knoAv 
now  what  inspirations  of  hope  and  courage 
and  cheerfulness  there  are  in  these  things. 
This  baptism  of  affliction  has  quickened  my 
soul  into  new  and  tender  relations  to  all  who 
suffer.  Hereafter  the  sick  man  is  twice  my 
brother  —  by  the  ties  of  a  common  humanity, 
and  by  the  fellowship  of  a  common  sorrow. 
Hereafter  my  feet  shall  be  swift  to  do  the 
offices  of  love,  and  to  repay  to  others  sick  the 
debt  of  kindness  laid  on  me.  The  word  of 
cheer,  the  friendly  visit,  the  timely  remem- 
brance, shall  not  be  wanting  from  me  to 
make  the  weary  hours  of  the  sick  chamber 
pass  quickly,  to  lay  the  heavy  pains  to  rest, 
to  quiet  the  agitated  nerves,  and  close  the 
long  sleepless  eyes  in  soothing  slumbers. 

Surely  it  is  something  to  be  thankful  for, 
even  if  it  come  through  sickness  ;  this  knowl- 
edge of  myself;   this  quickened  sense  of  my 


REASONS    FOR   THANKFULNESS.  31 

dependence  on  the  kindness  and  sympathy  of 
friends,  and  the  consequent  duty  I  owe  to 
others ;  this  sweet  experience  of  the  comfort 
there  is  in  human  sympathy  in  the  day  of  dis- 
tress ;  and  the  divine  joy  there  is  in  minister- 
ing to  the  afflicted,  in  following  Christ  in  his 
work  of  mercy  among  the  sick  and  suffering. 

And  then,  what  reason  have  I  to  be  thank- 
ful, that  in  the  providence  of  God,  the  lines 
of  life  have  fallen  to  me  in  a  land  of  Chris- 
tian knowledge  and  faith;  that  througk^all 
this  weary  sickness  I  have  the  comforting 
promise  of  the  Gospel,  that  Vv'hatever  of  suf- 
fering is  laid  upon  me  will  in  some  way  turn 
to  my  good.  What  should  I  do  in  tliis  day 
of  darkness  and  distress,  if  I  felt  that  all  my 
trials  and  sorrows,  that  all  events  indeed, 
came  of  chance,  without  order  or  law,  without 
any  beneficial  purpose  or  end !  But  now, 
thanks  to  the  merciful  and  loving  Jesus,  I  am 
consoled  by  the  confident  assurance  I  have, 
that  all  things  are  subject  to  the  divine  rule  ; 
that  there  is  no  chance  nor  accident  in  my 


32  REASONS    Foil   TniVNKFULKESS. 

afflictions,  but  that  all,  past,  present  and  to 
come,  is  directed  by  infinite  beneyolence,  and 
that  therefore  every  pain  and  grief  of  mine 
will  finally  shape  itself  into  some  form  of 
blessing. 

O,  then,  cannot  I  bear  patiently,  sustained 
by  tliis  inspiring  truth?  And,  however  dark 
the  night,  shall  I  not  walk  forward  cheer- 
fully, with  this  promise  of  the  Lord  as  a  shin- 
ing light  in  my  soul,  illuminating  all  the  path 
before  me  ? 

Yes,  in  my  sickness  I  will  thankfully  re- 
member the  blessings  of  home  and  kindred ; 
I  will  be  devoutly  grateful  for  the  ministra- 
tions of  love  and  friendship ;  and,  whatever 
my  sufferings,  I  will  rejoice  in  the  comforting 
promises  of  the  Father,  that  all  shall  end 
well. 

All  as  God  wills,  who  wisely  heeda 

To  give  or  to  withhold, 
And  knoweth  more  of  all  my  needa 

Than  all  my  prayers  have  told  ! 
Enough  that  blessings  undeserved 

Have  marked  my  erring  track  ; 
That  wheresoe'er  my  feet  have  swerved, 

His  chastening  turned  me  back.  — 


EEASONS    FOU   THANKFULNESS.  33 

That  more  and  more  a  ProTidenco 

Of  love  is  understood, 
Making  the  springs  of  time  and  sense 

Sweet  with  eternal  good ; 
That  care  and  trial  seem  at  last 

Through  Memory's  sunset  air, 
Like  mountain  ranges  overpast 

In  purple  distance  fair,  — 

That  death  seems  but  a  covered  way 

Which  opens  into  light, 
Wherein  no  blinded  child  can  stray 

Beyond  the  Father's  sight,  — 
And  so  the  shadows  fall  apart, 

And  so  the  west  winds  play ; 
And  all  the  windows  of  my  heart 

T  open  to  the  day. 


-e44#^^ 


III. 

@00b  in  €iiil. 


One  adequate  support 
For  the  calamities  of  mortal  life 
Exists,  one  only,  —  an  assured  belief 
That  the  procession  of  our  fate,  howe'er 
Disturbed  or  sad,  is  ordered  by  a  Being 
Of  infinite  benevolence  and  power, 
Whose  everlasting  purposes  embrace 
All  accidents,  converting  them  to  good. 

vO  evil  is  wholly  evil !  This  is  one  of 
1^  the  bright  gleams  of  light  that  stream 
in  upon  all  nights,  even  the  darkest. 
No  evil  is  vs^holly  evil.  Behind  the  blackest 
cloud  the  sun  shines  —  or  the  stars.  All  our 
trials  and  sorrows  have  elements  of  good  in 
them ;  hopeful  features  which  smile  upon  us 
in  gentle  reproof  of  our  unbelief  and  discour- 
agement.    JSTow  and  then,  as  the  swift  shuttle 


GOOD   IN   EVIL.  35 

passes,  we  catch  glimpses  of  bright  threads 
weaving  themselves  Into  the  dark  web  of  our 
affliction.  Hidden  relations  of  events  are  dis- 
covered in  this  or  that  direction,  where  we  did 
not  look  for  them.  And,  by  and  by,  the  fu- 
ture good,  wlilch  at  first  was  shut  out  by  the 
present  and  nearer  evil,  begins  to  lift  Itself 
into  the  line  of  vision ;  and  we  feel  our  faith 
Increased,  and  confirmed  at  last.  In  the  ever 
joint  action  of  the  infinite  Power  and  Love 
of  the  father. 

Long  time  ago  I  wrote  thus ;  and,  as  the 
years  drift  by,  and  the  sphere  of  observation 
and  experience  is  extended,  and  I  discover 
how  singularly  the  threads  of  good  and  evil, 
joy  and  sorrow,  sickness  and  health,  cross  and 
recross  as  warp  and  woof  In  the  loom  of  life, 
and  intertwine  and  weave  up  into  the  web  of 
destiny;  the  more  firmly  do  I  beheve  this, 
the  greater  is  my  confidence  in  that  wisdom, 
which  ordains  evil  as  well  as  good,  which 
orders  with  equal  mercy  darkness  and  light, 
€ufiering  and  rejoicing,  death  and  life.     Day 


6b  GOOD   IN  EVIL. 

by  day,  and  year  by  year,  the  dh'ine  fact 
comes  into  clearer  ligbt,  that  all  evil  has  a 
sunny  side  to  it,  that  sorrow  is  the  twin-sister 
of  joy,  and  the  grave  only  the  vestibule  to  the 
temple  of  immortal  life. 

"  There  is  no  sorrow,  friends,  but  it  has  still 
Some  soul  of  sweetness  iu  it  ;  there's  no  ill 
But  comes  from  Him  who  made  it,  and  is  good 
As  fruit  in  season,  leaf  in  budding  wood." 

This  affliction  that  has  come  upon  you,  this 
sickness  that  consumes  your  strength,  and 
wastes  the  body,  and  withdraws  you  from  the 
activities  of  life,  is  not  in  vain,  not  without 
some  purpose  of  good  for  you.  Receive  it  in 
a  trusting  spirit ;  improve  it  in  lifting  up  the 
soul  to  God.  Let  the  weary  hours  of  weak- 
ness and  pain  he  lightened  by  thoughts  of 
heavenly  things,  by  sweet  communion  with 
the  Holy  Spirit ;  by  recollections  of  past 
events,  which  have  revealed  the  good  there  is 
always  hidden  away  in  evil,  which  have  shown 
the  benefit  there  is  in  every  grief  or  trial  that 
the  Lord  appoints ;  by  numbering  to  yourself 


GOOD   IN  EVIL.  37 

the  occasions  in  your  own  life,  and  in  the  life 
of  others,  when  you  have,  seen  how  much 
better  it  was  that  God's  will  was  done  rather 
than  yours  or  theirs. 

A  thousand  times  have  I  repeated  to  myself 
these  lines,  whose  truth  is  equal  to  their 
beauty : 

"  With  patient  heart  thy  course  of  duty  run, 
God  nothlDg  does,  nor  suffers  to  he  done, 
But  thou  wouldst  do  thyself,  if  thou  couldst  only  see 
The  end  of  all  he  does,  as  well  as  he." 

Nothing  seems  to  me  more  certain  than 
this.  With  all  my  soul  I  believe  that  if  we 
could  see  the  end  of  all  we  suffer  as  clearly  as 
God  sees  it,  we  should  not  lift  a  finger  to 
change  it.  However  deeply  the  iron  might 
enter  the  soul,  however  bitter  the  cup  of  our 
afflictions,  how  great  soever  the  wreck  of  our 
hopes  and  plans  on  the  sea  of  adversity, — 
still,  if  we  could  understand  the  purposes  of 
God,  the  exact  thing  he  means  to  accomplish 
by  our  trials,  the  thing  he  is  doing  we  should 
do  oiif selves. 


38  GOOD   IN   EVIL. 

In  the  depth  of  his  distress  Jacob  exclaims  : 
*'^Ie  have  ye  bereaved,  Joseph  is  not,  and 
Simeon  is  not,  and  now  ye  will  take  Ben- 
jamin away  —  all  these  things  are  against 
me."  Poor  old  man  I  These  things  seem  to 
be  against  you,  but  they  are  not.  They  are 
all  for  you ;  they  are  the  very  things  you 
would  do  yourself,  if  you  only  linew  the  sig- 
nificance of  tliem.  They  are  not  evil,  but 
good;  not  death,  but  life  to  you  and  yours. 
What  a  lesson  of  humility  and  faith  tliis  story 
teaches  :  Joseph  pleading  in  anguish  of  soul 
with  his  brethren,  that  they  will  not  make 
Mm  governor  of  Egypt,  and  the  savior  of  his 
family  and  kindred  !  Jacob  bitterly  weeping 
over  an  affliction,  wliich  was  only  the  angel 
of  God  waiting  to  restore  to  him  his  long  lost 
son !  How  ought  these  to  rebuke  our  mur- 
muring and  impatience,  when  sickness,  or 
bereavement,  or  any  kind  of  misfortune  fails 
to  our  lot. 

So  we  misjudge  the  ways  of  God,  and  mis- 
call his  providences.     The  names  we  give  to 


GOOD  IN  EVIL.  39 

the  divine  methods  and  agencies  make  sad 
confusion  of  the  truth.  We  call  this  good 
and  that  evil  to-day;  but  to-morrow  reveals 
our  mistake,  corrects  our  judgment,  and 
compels  a  change  in  our  vocabulary.  -^ 

The  boy  of  ten,  who  sees  happiness  only  in 
kites  and  balls,  in  sleds  and  skates,  thinks  it 
a  sore  affliction  to  be  shut  up  in  the  hated 
school-house,  under  a  stern  master,  compelled 
to  learn  the  hardest  lessons  —  this  to  him  is 
the  greatest  evil  you  can  put  upon  him.  But, 
as  the  years  flow  on,  and  bear  him  forward 
into  the  activities  of  life,  he  finds  that  the 
greatest  evil  at  ten,  has  changed  into  the 
greatest  good  at  thirty,  and  opened  for  him 
ways  of  wealth  and  usefulness,  and  set  him  in 
the  high  places  of  honor  and  power. 

I  think  it  is  so  with  all  our  trials  —  yea, 
with  all  the  evils  of  our  world  —  that  there  is 
a  germ  of  good  in  them,  which  by  and  by 
buds  and  blossoms  into  fruit.  We  do  not  like 
much  the  black  and  smutty  charcoal,  but  it  is 
what  nature  makes  her  diamonds  of.      The 


40  GOOD   IN  EVIL. 

evil  \YQ  suffer  is  only  the  black  and  sooty  car- 
bon, which,  when  the  necessary  conditions 
are  present,  is  converted  into  good,  into  the 
brilliant  and  valuable  diamond.  We  ought, 
^therefore,  to  be  vfery  slow  in  om*  judgment  of 
the  ways  of  Providence. 

^Yliat  we  need  most  of  all,  what  you  need, 
my  suffering  friend,  is,  Tnist  in  God,  Try  to 
learn  this  lesson,  and  to  apply  it  now  in  the 
days  of  your  tribulation,  when  the  body  sinks 
under  disease,  and  the  spirit  faints ;  when 
your  hopes  grow  dim,  and  the  clouds  begin  to 
drift  between  you  and  the  setting  sun,  and  a 
darkness  as  of  the  night  gathers  about  you. 
How  beautiful  was  the  simple  faith  of  our 
cliildhood,  when,  however  dark  the  night, 
however  devious  the  way,  we  were  ready  to 
put  our  hand  into  the  hand  of  father  or 
mother,  and  walk  forward  with  unfaltering 
heart,  confident  they  would  lead  us  to  the 
shelter  and  security  of  our  dear  home. 

Accept  and  cherish  the  same  sweet  and 
childlike    faith    in    God,    who    is    also    our 


GOOD   IN   EVIL.  41 

Father.  The  path,  by  which  he  brings  you 
on  your  way,  may  sometimes  lead  out  into 
the  darkness  and  the  desert,  may,  as  in  the 
case  of  Joseph,  lead  down  into  Egypt ;  but 
forget  not  that  God  dAvells  in  the  prisons  and 
palaces  of  Egypt,  as  well  as  in  the  tents  of 
Jacob ;  that  he  is  present  everywhere,  and 
always,  as  a  Eefuge  and  a  Comforter.  .  Be 
patient  and  hopeful,  therefore ;  remembering 
that,  however  this  sickness  may  terminate,  the 
hour  approaches, — 

"  VVhen  all  the  vanities  of  Life's  brief  day 
GLlivion's  liurrjdng  hand  shall  sweep  away  ; 
And  all  its  sorrows,  at  the  wakening  blast 
Of  the  archangel's  trump,  shall  be  as  shadows  past.** 


■^44#»^ 


IV. 

Clje  §I«ssitt0  of  u  €^tixinl  IJhtg. 


There  are  brieis  besetting  every  path, 

That  call  for  patient  care  ; 
There  are  trials  and  griefs  in  every  lot, 

And  a  need  for  earnest  prayer  — 
But  a  lowly  heart  that  leans  on  Thee, 

Is  happy  everywhere. 

S  long  as  cverytliing  goes  prosperouslj 
with  us,  no  losses  nor  calamities,  no 
sickness  nor  death,  nor  unusual  expo- 
sure to  death  of  those  we  love,  it  is  not  a  dif- 
ficult thing  to  be  cheerful,  light-hearted  and 
happy.  It  is  very  easy,  under  such  circum- 
stances, to  rebuke  the  questionings  and  mur- 
murings  of  those  over  whom  the  great  water- 
fioods  of  affliction  have  rolled;  and  who,  in 
spite  of  all  their  faith,  cannot  keep  back  the 


THE  BLESSING  OF  A  CHEEKFUL  PIETY.    43 

anguisli-cry  of  the  Saviour,  —  '<My  God,  my 
God  !  why  hast  thou  forsaken  me." 

But  let  any  of  this  class  suddenly  come  into 
any  kind  of  trouble ;  let  some  business  mis- 
fortune bring  them  front  to  front  with  com- 
parative poverty;  or  disease,  attended  with 
great  bodily  suffering,  fall  to  their  lot;  or 
death  strike  down  some  beloved  member  of 
the  family  circle  —  oh,  then  it  is  quite  another 
thing.  They  can  be  very  eloquent  in  urging 
upon  others  the  lesson  of  trust  and  resignation 
under  affliction ;  but  when  they  go  down  into 
the  deeps,  then  it  is  their  sorrow,  and  not 
another's.  Then  they  talk  very  differently, 
and  feel  far  otherwise  than  when  the  evil 
came  to  some  acquaintance  or  neighbor,  or 
even  some  friend.  They  learn  the  truth  of 
the  saying  so  often  repeated,  that  it  is 
easier  always  to  bear  other  people's  troubles 
than  to  bear  one's  own.  Indeed,  it  is  always 
easier  to  commend  faith  and  submission  to 
others,  than  to  realize  the  blessing  in  our  own 
souls.    And  yet  the  realization  of  this  blessing 


4.4  THE    BLESSING   OF 

In  our  own  souls,  is  not  an  impossible  tiling. 
It  is  the  product,  largely,  of  Christian  doc- 
trine and  knowledge,  of  Christian  effort  and 
culture.  It  is  the  harvest-sheaves  of  wheat 
which  ail  can  soiv,  since  God  has  placed  the 
ricli  seed  grain  within  reach  of  all. 

I  do  not  intend  bj  this  universal  phrasing 
of  the  thought,  to  be  understood  as  saying 
there  are  not  original  and  constitutional  dif- 
ferences in  men  in  regard  to  this  matter.  All 
men  are  not  alike  in  their  relioious  and  moral 
structure,  any  more  than  in  their  mental  ca- 
pacities, or  in  bodily  strength  and  size.  The 
Creator  has  made  them  different.  Two  men, 
of  equal  spiritual  life  and  culture,  having  the 
same  theological  belief,  the  same  confident 
faith  in  the  Divine  direction  of  all  human 
affairs,  will  not  bear  the  same  trouble  with  the 
same  serenity  and  uncomplaining  patience  — 
and  only  because  in  physical  constitution,  in 
nervous  irritability,  they  are  wholly  unlike ; 
created  unhke  in  the  beginning,  and  not  so 
because  of  any  spiritual  training  by  the  one, 
or  any  neglect  of  it  by  the  other. 


A   CHEERFUL   TIETY.  45 

Now,  one  of  these  men  will  face  a  great 
misfortune,  or  bear  a  long  and  painful  sick- 
ness, or  meet  death  with  firmness  and  compo- 
sure ;  and  those  beholding  him  set  him  down 
as  a  model  Christian,  a  perfect  religious  man. 
The  other  will  be  overcome  by  these  trials, 
he  will  bow  to  them  as  a  reed  in  the  wind ; 
his  corn-age  fails  him,  his  nerves  betray  him, 
the  physical  man,  the  sensitive  body,  in  its 
tremor  and  weakness  conquers  the  spirit,  and 
his  words  and  manner  convince  the  superficial 
observer  that  he  is  wholly  wanting  in  faith 
and  trust  toward  God,  in  religious  life  and 
personal  piety. 

And  yet  nothing  could  be  farther  from  the 
truth.  It  is  not  the  man's  faith  or  piety  that 
are  at  fault,  but  his  nerves,  his  excessively 
delicate  and  irritable  physical  constitution, 
played  upon  and  swayed  hither  and  thither 
by  bodily  pains  or  mental  troubles,  as  the 
leaves  of  the  forest  arc  seized  and  swept  to 
and  fro  by  the  fickle  winds.  I  knew  inti- 
mately a  man  of  this  sort,  years  ago,  now  in 


46  THE   BLESSmG  OF 

heaven.  He  was  possessed  of  an  excellent 
mind,  cultivated  by  extensive  reading,  as 
truly  Christian  in  life  and  spirit  as  any  one  I 
ever  ministered  to.  But  he  was  of  a  most 
sensitive  temperament,  extremely  nervous, 
and  keenly  alive  to  every  disturbing  influence. 
It  is  easy  to  see  how  a  protracted  and  very 
painful  disease  would  aflect  such  a  person. 
And  the  last  days  of  his  life  were  clouded  to 
many  of  his  friends  (not  to  me  who  knew  him 
so  well,)  by  exhibitions  of  fretful  impatience, 
complaints  and  accusations,  and  an  absence 
of  that  confidence  and  reconciliation  to  the 
Divine  will,  which  his  previous  life  authorized 
us  to  expect.  But  with  a  nervous  system 
utterly  shattered  by  his  sufierings,  I  knew  all 
this  was  to  be  set  down  against  the  physical 
and  not  against  the  spiritual  man.  Other 
men,  with  not  half  his  faith  or  i)iety,  but  with 
nerves  of  wrought  iron,  had  met  their  trial 
with  twice  the  courage  and  steadiness.  I 
knew  the  soul  was  not  faithless,  but  only  that 
it  could  not  control  the  quivering  nerves,  nor 


A   CHEERFUL   PIETY.  47 

master  the  angulsli  of  the  frail  and  sensitive 
body.  And  we  could  see  this  in  the  seasons 
of  lengthened  relief  and  quiet,  when  the  spirit 
was  lifted  for  a  moment  out  of  the  bodily 
wreck,  and  uttered  itself  in  the  old  famiKar 
dialect  of  holy  trust  and  sweetest  resignation. 

Let  those,  therefore,  who  are  gifted  with 
strong  nerves,  as  well  as  blessed  with  strong 
faith,  be  patient  with  such  as  are  overwhelmed 
hj  their  troubles,  remembering  the  words  of 
Paul,  — -  **For  who  maketh  thee  to  differ  from 
another  ?  and  what  hast  thou  that  thou  didst 
not  receive  ?  now  if  thou  didst  receive  it,  why 
dost  thou  glory,  as  if  thou  hadst  not  received 
it?  ....  Therefore  judge  nothing  before 
the  time,  until  the  Lord  come,  who  both  will 
bring  to  light  the  hidden  things  of  darkness, 
and  will  make  manifest  the  counsels  of  the 
hearts ;  and  then  shall  every  man  have  praise 
ofGod."  — ICor.  iv. 

But  we  must  be  careful  not  to  justify  our 
impatience  and  complaint  by  forcing  tills  view 
of  the  subject  to  an  extreme.     A  just  allow- 


48  THE    BLESSING    OF 

ance  should  certainly  be  made  for  constitu- 
tional differences  among  men ;  for  an  original 
endowment,  in  one  case,  of  strength  and  en- 
durance entirely  independent  of  faith  and 
piety,  and  in  another,  for  a  frail  and  nervelesa 
body,  which  is  forever  dragging  the  soul 
doAvn  into  its  own  helplessness  and  gloom. 
Still  we  must  not  forget  that,  with  multitudes 
having  equal  original  gifts  and  opportunities, 
the  results  are  widely  different  —  and  this 
from  neglect  of  religious  culture,  from  want 
of  self-government,  from  cherisliing  an  un- 
happy, dissatisfied  and  querulous  temper. 

Giving  to  the  exceptions  named  their  full 
f weight  in  the  explanation,  it  is  nevertheless 
true  that  faith  and  piety,  and  the  discipline  of 
a  Christian  spirit  and  character,  are  a  most 
important  help  to  us  in  the  day  of  trial  —  in 
misfortunes,  in  sickness,  in  bereavement,  in 
our  own  death.  It  is  nevertheless  true  that 
we  can  lighten  our  burthens,  or  otherwise, 
just  according  to  the  spirit  in  which  we  accept 
them.     The  same  sickness  or  trouble  to  one 


A  CHEERFUL  PIETY.  49 

person,  fretful,  resistant,  disposed  to  see 
every  thing,  every  event,  on  the  wrong  side, 
having  no  living  faith  in  Providence,  will 
press  on  him  as  with  the  v»^eight  of  a  moun- 
tain ;  but  to  another  cheerful,  patient,  trying 
to  make  the  best  of  ever}i:hing,  trying  to  see 
God  in  everything,  it  will  be  only  as  a  hand- 
ful of  feathers. 

It  is  the  part  of  true  wisdom,  therefore,  to 
cultivate  a  cheerful,  hopeful  disposition.  By 
always  looking  on  the  dark  side,  and  hunting 
up  evil  things,  a  man  can  soon  change  the 
order  of  his  thoughts,  can  soon  beget  a  sour 
and  disagreeable  temper,  and  make  himself  as 
unhappy  as  he  is  offensive  to  others,  and 
unjust  to  his  Maker.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
man  who  is  always  seeking  for  smmy  spots, 
for  green  grass  and  flowers,  is  sm^e  to  find 
them;  and  to  find,  also,  that  the  light  and 
fragrance  will  creep,  by  some  subtle  process, 
into  all  the  shadows  of  his  heart  —  till  by  and 
by  his  whole  life  comes  out  into  the  sunshine, 
in  spite  of  his  misfortunes  and  sorrows. 
4 


50  THE   BLESSING   OF 

The  truth  is,  there  Is  always  sunshine  some- 
where. There  is  alwavs  somethlno-  to  be 
thankful  for,  even  in  the  darkest  life.  We 
should  never  let  the  taking  away  of  one  bles- 
sing, however  precious,  blind  us  to  the  value 
of  those  that  are  left.  We  should  not  forget 
in  the  sickness  of  to-day,  the  many  days 
and  years  In  which  we  have  enjoyed  perfect 
health,  and  been  free  from  pain,  and  able  to 
go  about  our  daily  duties  without  fatigue  or 
suffering.  How  few  the  days  of  storm  and 
rain,  compared  with  those  that  are  calm  and 
sunny.  How  short  the  seasons  of  bodily 
distress  and  anguish,  contrasted  with  the  long 
periods  of  ease  and  comfort.  We  should 
think  of  this  more  than  we  do.  It  would 
teach  us  patience  and  resignation.  If  we 
count  the  days  in  wlilch  we  are  absolutely 
miserable,  we  shall  be  surprised  to  find  how 
few  they  are  compared  with  our  complaints. 
And  If  we  faithfully  register  every  day  in  the 
year  which  brings  us  some  sweetness,  some 
enjoyment   or   some    comfort,    we    shall   feel 


A  CHEEEFUL  PIETY.  51 

rebuked  for  our  many  unjust  accusations 
against  our  Heavenly  Father,  when  we  find 
how  near  the  res-ister  comes  to  three  hundred 
and  sixt}^-five ! 

That  was  the  true  sph'It  of  gratitude  and 
submission  exhibited  by  an  aged  saint,  who 
in  his  poverty  thanked  God  for  a  crust  of 
bread,  and  the  hope  of  heaven  beside ;  and 
wlio,  when  pitied  for  his  unprotected  lone- 
liness, replied,  *'I  am  never  alone;  Faith 
shuts  my  door  at  night,  and  Mercy  opens  it  in 
the  morning."  It  is  wonderful  how  a  pleas- 
ant disposition  will  lighten  our  burthens,  and 
sweeten  the  wormwood  of  life.  It  is  very 
beautiful,  even  when  wq  are  despondent  our- 
selves, to  see  how  the  gloom  of  a  sick  cham- 
ber is  sometimes  illumined  by  the  light  of  a 
cheerful  piety,  which  will  not  let  go  its  hold 
on  God.  The  obscurest  sufferer  in  this  way 
becomes  transfigured  as  with  the  glory  of  the 
Lord,  and  his  faith  and  patience  and  sweet 
humility  come  to  us  with  a  ministry  of  reproof 
for  our  ingratitude  toward  Him,  who  has  said 


52  THE   BLESSING   OF 

for  our  encouragement  and  comfoi't,  ' '  I  will 
never  leave  thee  nor  forsake  thee  ? " 

A  truly  religious  spirit  takes  up  this  prom- 
ise of  the  Lord,  and,  in  sickness  and  affliction, 
makes  it  the  rod  and  the  staff  whereon  it 
leans ;  and  by  help  of  which  it  is  rested  and 
comforted,  in  its  weary  walk  tlu^ough  the 
valley  of  shadows.  But,  as  said,  this  spirit 
of  reverent  submission  and  affectionate  confi- 
dence toward  God,  is  not  the  product  of  a 
miracle  wrought  in  the  soul  by  the  Holy 
Spirit ;  but  tlic  fruitage  of  seed  which  we  our- 
selves must  sow.  Some  effort  is  needed  on 
our  part.  The,  promise  of  peace  is  conditional 
upon  our  seeking  it.  Without  a  knowledge 
of  God  v/e  cannot  trust  him;  and  knovvl- 
edge  is  the  reward  of  labor,  of  study.  If  we 
never  seek,  we  shall  never  find.  "Ask,  and 
ye  shall  receive;  seek,  and  ye  shall  find; 
knock,  and  it  shall  be  opened  unto  you." 

Knowledge  of  God  and  of  his  love  for  us 
comes  first,  and  then  confidence  in  his  wise 
and   beneficent   direction   of  all  our  troubles 


A  CHEERFUL  PIETY.  53 

and  trials ;  and  then,  a  calm  and  clieerM 
resignation  to  his  will';  and  then,  an  abiding 
peace  which  no  sorrow,  no  evil  can  disturb  — 
these  are  the  natural  sequences,  linking  into 
each  other  as  cause  and  eiFect. 

What  can  these  anxious  cares  avail, 
These  never-ceasing  moans  and  sighs  ? 

What  can  it  help  us  to  bewail 
Each  painful  moment  as  it  flies  ? 

Our  cross  and  trials  do  but  press 

The  heavier  for  our  bitterness. 

Leave  God  to  order  all  thy  ways, 

And  hope  in  him  whate'er  betide ; 
Thoul't  find  him  in  the  evil  days 

Thy  all  sufficient  strength  and  guide. 
Who  trusts  in  God's  unchanging  love, 
Builds  on  the  rock  that  nought  can  move. 


1^  %  Ijous^  m  #rbxr? 


Lord  may  I  be  ready  when  death  shall  comSj 

May  I  be  ready  to  hasten  home ! 

No  earthward  clinging,  no  lingering  gaze, 

No  strife  at  parting,  no  sore  amaze  ; 

No  flitting  shadows  to  dim  the  light 

Of  angel  pinions  winged  for  the  flight ; 

No  cloud-like  phantoms  to  fling  a  gloom 

'Twist  heaTcn's  bright  portals  and  earth'd  dark  tomb  — 

But  sweetly,  gently,  to  pass  away 

From  the  world's  dim  twilight  into  day. 

^iC^E  oiiglit  always  to  live  in  such  way 
/]  L  as  to  be  prepared  for  whatever  the 
day  may  bring  forth.  I^ot  that  w^e 
sliould  ever  be  living  in  the  shadow  of  death, 
or  in  constant  exj)ectation  of  sickness  or  ca- 
lamity of  any  sort ;  but  with  wise  regard  to 
the  possibility  of  misfortune,  sickness,  be- 
reavement or  death,  at  any  moment.     If  wo 


6 JET   THY   HOUSE   IN   ORDER.  55 

keep  this  in  mind,  and  reflect  upon  it  as  a 
possibility  at  any  time,  as  a  certainty  some 
time,  Ave  shall  be  careful  to  set  our  house  in 
order,  and  so  dispose  our  spiritual  and  tem- 
poral affairs,  that  we  shall  never  be  surprised 
or  alarmed,  however  sudden  the  event. 

This  present  sickness  of  yours  has  come 
upon  you  perhaps  quite  unexpectedly.  Doubt- 
less, could  you  have  foreseen  it,  you  would 
have  finished  many  things  now  left  incom- 
plete ;  you  would  have  brought  your  business 
into  more  compact  form,  arranged  your  pa- 
pers, balanced  your  books,  and  gathered  up 
all  the  loose  threads  in  the  web  of  your  plans 
and  purposes,  which  this  sudden  sickness  has 
sadly  entangled  and  deranged. 

You  do  not  know,  no  one  can  tell  you,  how 
this  sickness  will  terminate.  It  may  be  that 
God,  in  his  gracious  mercy,  will  give  you 
safe  recovery ;  and  it  may  be  that,  in  equal 
mercy,  he  will  call  you  to  bid  the  world  a 
final  adieu.  At  any  rate,  if  you  recover  from 
this  sickness,   you  step  back  from  the  open 


56  SET   THY   HOUSE    IN   OEDER. 

grave  only  to  approach  it  again  in  a  few 
years,  or  a  few  months,  perhaps. 

Are  you  prepared  for  either  issue?  Is  the 
soul  ready  for  the  'change,  strong  in  its  faith, 
clear  in  its  vision^  Have  you  no  errors  to 
correct?  no  wrongs  to  redress?  no  short- 
comings to  regret  ?  no  sins  to  repent  of  ?  are 
your  worldly  affairs  disposed  according  to 
your  wishes  ?  are  there  no  last  things  you  de- 
sire to  do?  no  last  words  of  direction  and 
counsel  you  need  to  speak  ?  In  a  word :  Is 
your  house  in  order?  If  so,  then  happy  are 
you,  for  no  sickness  can  surprise  you  into  con- 
fusion ;  and  death,  however  sudden,  cannot 
alarm  you. 

There  is  no  duty  a  man  oavcs  to  himself,  or 
to  his  family  and  those  who  love  him,  so  sacred 
and  binding  as  this  perfect  preparedness  for 
sudden  sickness  and  death.  Since  we  never 
know  when  they  may  come,  we  should  never 
be  in  any  other  than  a  state  of  readiness  to 
meet  them.  The  true  Christian  proves  him- 
self such  by  being  ever  ready,  ever  prepared 


SET  THT  HOUSE   IS  ORDER.  57 

in  aU  respects,  whether  as  regards  MmBelf, 
those  dependent  on  Mm,  or  the  world  at  large. 
He  lives  every  day  mindful  of  the  fact  that  he 
may  be  prostrated  by  disease,  or  come  to  his 
death  by  some  sudden  calamity;  and  there- 
fore, for  this  very  reason,  passes  through  life 
cheerfuUy  and  composedly,  knowing  that  he  is 
ready,  ready  to  Uve  or  to  die,  as  to  the  Lord 
may  seem  best. 

Therefore,  in  the  fitting  words  of  Zschokke, 
"Prepare  thy  soul  that  It  may  be  ready  to 
depart  at  any  moment ;  and  see  to  It  that  thou 
fulfil  day  by  day  every  duty  toward  those  de- 
pendent on  thee,  and  toward  thy  feUow-men. 
Do  not  flatter  thyself  with  the  hope  that  thou 
wilt  have  time  during  a  long  and  lingering 
illness  to  put  thy  house  In  order. 

"\\Tio  knows  what  his  end  may  be?  Who 
can  in  any  way  foretell  whether  he  may 
not  be  cut  off  by  some  untoward  accident? 
Therefore,  prepare  thy  house,  keep  thy  do- 
mestic affairs,  thy  worldly  concerns,  in  order, 
80  that,  if  thou  be  called  away  suddenly  from 


68  SET   Tlir   HOUSE   1^    OKDEll. 

the  midst  of  thy  frionds,  everything  «hall  bo 
found  after  th}-  dissohitlon  arranged  with  such 
perfect  care,  that  there  shall  be  no  neglected 
parts,  no  confusion.     The  praise  of  the  living 
will  follow  thee ;  the  blessings  of  thy  loved 
ones  will  reach  thee  in  the  eternal  abodes ; 
thou  wilt  have  fulfilled  one  of  ,the  most  sacred 
duties  towards  those  who  are  bound  to  thee  by 
the  ties  of  blood.     We  may  always  take  it  for 
granted,  that  he  Avho  kept  his  domestic  affiiirs 
in  order  was  found  ])rcpared  in  those  more 
important  matters  also  that  lay  between  him 
and  God.      Live  and  act  each  day  so   that 
after  thy  death,  were  it  even  to  take  place  the 
next  miiuite,   thy  family  shall  not  be  left  in 
want,  and  no  blame  shall  attacli  to  thy  name. 
For  the  i^ood  name  of  the  departed  must  ever 
be  the  most  blessed  inheritance  to  those  he 
leases   behind.     Arrange  tliy  affiiirs   so  that 
they  may  at  any  moment  be  laid  before  the 
eyes   of  strangers,  as  is   always  more  or  less 
the  case  after  our  demise. 

*' Prepare  thy  house  !     If  thou  leadest  at  all 


SET    THY   HOUSE    IN   OKDEE.  59 

times  a  life  of  piety,  innocence,  benevolence, 
full  of  active  well-doing,  and  free  from  hatred 
or  anger,  sucli  as  Jesus  thy  Saviour  taught 
thee,  then  sudden  death  can  only  be  to  thee  a 
sudden  benefit.  Why  shouldst  thou  dread  to 
appear  before  God  ?  Art  thou  not  ever  in  his 
presence  ?  Hast  thou  not  been,  even  from  thy 
birth,  one  of  his  children,  whom  he  holds  in 
his  arms,  whom  he  watches  over  and  pro- 
tects ?  He  knows  thy  short-comings  ;  but  he 
knows  also  thy  earnest  efforts  to  correct  them. 
He  sees  also  the  honest  fight  wliich,  in  order 
to  be  worthy  of  liim,  thou  fightest  against  the 
temptations  to  sin ;  he  sees  how  often  thou 
hast  resisted  and  overcome  thy  tendencies  to 
aivarice  or  sensual  enjoyment;  he  witnesses 
thy  endeavors  to  make  amends  for  every  fault 
by  noble  actions.  Ought  a  child  to  fear  to 
appear  before  its  loving  parent,  even  though  it 
have  not  yet  conquered  all  its  faults  ?  Has 
not  Jesus  revealed  to  us  the  infinite  mercy  of 
the  Fatlier  in  all  its  beauty?  Has  he  not 
given  us  assurances  of  his  grace  and  his  for- 
o^iveness  ?  " 


60  SET   THY   HOUSE    m   ORDER. 

Fear  not,  then ;  but  diligently  ordering  all 
thy  worldly  affairs,  and  walking  after  the  ex- 
ample, and  in  the  spirit,  of  thy  Lord  and 
Master,  be  prepared  and  waiting  for  the  voice 
of  the  Lord.  The  measure  of  thy  duties 
filled,  the  work  given  thee  finished,  the  les- 
sons of  earth  all  learned,  thou  wilt  be  ready, 
when  that  voice  comes  to  thee,  to  answer  as 
the  ' '  child  Samuel "  answered  to  the  heavenly 
call- — ''Here  am  X;  speak.  Lord,  for  thy 
servant  heareth." 

The  bird  let  loose  in  E<astern  skies, 

Returning  fondly  home, 
Ne'er  stoops  to  earth  her  wing,  nor  flies 

Where  idle  warblers  roam  ; 
But  high  she  shoots  through  air  and  light, 

Above  all  low  delay, 
Where  nothing  earthly  bounds  her  flight, 

Nor  shadow  dims  her  way 

So  grant  me,  God,  from  every  snare 

Of  sinful  passion  free. 
Aloft  through  faith's  serener  air 

To  hold  my  course  to  thee  — 
No  sin  to  cloud,  no  lure  to  stay 

My  soul,  as  home  she  springs  ; 
Thy  sunshine  on  her  joyful  way, 

Thy  freedom  on  her  wings. 


VI, 


0  Father,  —  draw  me  after  thee, 

So  shall  I  run  and  never  tire  ; 
Thy  presence  still  my  comfort  be, 

My  hope,  my  joy,  my  sole  desire ; 
Thy  spirit  grant ;  —  for  neither  fear 
Nor  sin  can  come,  while  that  is  near. 

HE  Lord  is  mj  light  and  my  salvation ; 
whom  shall  I  fear?  the  Lord  is  the 
strength  of  my  life ;  of  whom  shall  I 
be  afraid  ?  For  in  the  time  of  trouble  he  shall 
hide  me  in  his  pavilion :  in  the  secret  of  his 
tabernacle  shall  he  hide  me ;  he  shall  set  me 
upon  a  rock. 

In  thee,  O  Lord,  do  I  put  my  trust.     In 


62  INSnilED   MEDITATIONS   FOR 

the  day  of  trouble  I  will  call  upon  thee ; 
for  thou  wilt  answer  me.  When  I  remember 
thee  upon  my  bed,  and  meditate  on  thee 
in  the  night  watches ;  How  precious  are  thy 
thoughts  unto  me,  O  God !  how  great  is  the 
sum  of  them  !  If  I  should  count  them,  they 
are  more  in  number  than  the  sand :  when  I 
awake,  I  am  still  with  thee. 

Thus  will  I  bless  thee  while  I  live :  I  will 
lift  up  my  hands  in  thy  name.  For  thou 
Lord  art  good,  and  ready  to  forgive ;  and 
plenteous  in  mercy  to  all  them  that  call  upon 
thee. 


0  Lord  God  of  my  salvation,  I  have  cried 
day  and  night  before  thee :  Let  my  prayer 
come  before  thee ;  incline  thine  ear  unto  my 
cry ;  For  my  days  are  like  a  shadow  that  de- 
clineth ;  and  I  am  withered  like  grass. 

1  am  counted  with  those  that  go  down  to 
the  grave ;  I  am  as  a  man  that  hath  no 
strength  :  For  thou  hast  laid  me  in  the  lowest 
pit,    in   darkness,   and  in   the  deeps.     Thou 


THE    SICK   CHAJMBER.  63 

hast  afflicted  me  witli  all  thy  waves.  ]Mine 
eye  mourneth  by  reason  of  affliction :  Lord  I 
have  called  daily  upon  thee,  I  have  stretched 
out  my  hands  unto  thee. 

I  am  afflicted  and  ready  to  die  :  why  hidest 
thou  thy  face  from  me?  Look  upon  my 
affliction  and  my  pain,  and  forgive  all  my  sins. 

Hear  me,  O  Lord,  for  thy  loving-kindness 
is  good :  turn  unto  me  according  to  the  multi- 
tude of  thy  mercies.  And  hide  not  thy  face 
from  thy  servant ;  for  my  soul  is  full  of  trou- 
bles, and  my  life  draweth  nigh  unto  the 
grave. 

Deep  calleth  unto  deep  at  the  noise  of  thy 
water-spouts  :   all  thy  waves  and  thy  billows 


Why  art  thou  cast  down,  O  my  soul?  and 
why  art  thou  disquieted  within  me  ?  hope  thou 
in  God :  for  I  shall  yet  praise  him  who  is 
the  health  of  my  countenance,  and  my  God. 
For  his  anger  endureth  but  a  moment ;  but  in 
his  favor  is  life :  weeping  may  endm-e  for  a 
night,  but  joy  cometh  in  the  morning. 


64  INSPIKED  JilEDITATlONS   FOR 

I  know,  O  Lord,  that  tliy  judgments  are 
right;  and  that  in  faithfulness  thou  hast 
afflicted  me.  Therefore  will  I  not  fear,  for  I 
know  in  whom  I  have  believed,  and  am  per- 
suaded that  he  is  able  to  keep  that  v/hich  I 
have  committed  unto  liim. 

The  Lord  hath  chastened  me  sore ;  but  he 
hath  not  given  me  over  to  death.  Therefore 
I  shall  not  die,  but  live,  and  declare  tlie 
v/orks  of  the  Lord. 

]  ^Ylll  go  into  thy  house  with  praise  offer- 
ings :  I  will  pay  thee  my  vows,  which  my  lips 
have  uttered,  and  my  mouth  hath  spoken, 
when  I  was  in  trouble. 

So  wilt  thou  recover  me,  and  make  me  to 
live.  For  the  grave  cannot  praise  thee,  death 
cannot  celebrate  thee.  What  profit  is  there 
in  my  life  when  I  go  down  to  the  grave? 
Shall  the  dust  praise  thee  ?  shall  it  declare  thy 
truth?  The  living,  the  living,  he  shall  praise 
thee,  as  I  do  this  day :  the  father  to  the  chil- 
dren shall  make  known  thy  truth. 

Nevertheless,  O  Father !    if  this  cup  may 


THE   SICK  CHAMBER.  65 

not  pass  from  me  except  I  drink  it,  thy  will 
be  done.  The  cup  which  my  Father  hath 
given  me,  shall  I  not  drink  it?  The  spirit 
indeed  is  willing,  but  the  flesh  is  weak.  The 
flesh  and  the  heart  faileth,  but  God  is  the 
strength  of  my  heart,  and  my  portion  forever. 

The  Lord  is  my  shepherd ;  I  shall  not 
want.  He  maketh  me  to  lie  down  in  green 
pastures ;  he  leadeth  me  beside  the  still  wa- 
ters. He  restoreth  my  soul ;  he  leadeth  me 
in  the  paths  of  righteousness  for  his  name's 
sake.  Yea,  though  I  walk  through  the  Val- 
ley of  the  Shadow  of  Death,  I  will  fear  no 
evil ;  for  Thou  art  with  me  :  thy  rod  and  thy 
staff  they  comfort  me. 

I  am  continually  with  thee  :  thou  hast  hold- 
en  me  by  my  right  hand.  Thou  shalt  guide 
me  with  thy  counsels,  and  afterward  receive 
me  to  glory.  Therefore  return  unto  thy  rest, 
O  my  soul ;  for  the  Lord  hath  dealt  boimti- 
fully  with  thee. 
5 


VII. 

gibira  €annahixanB  iax  %  Mth 


In  suffering  be  thy  love  my  peace  ; 

In  weakness  be  thy  grace  my  power ; 
And  when  the  stoims  of  life  shall  cease, 

0  God  I  in  that  important  hour, 
In  death  as  life  be  thou  my  guide, 
And  bear  me  through  its  whelming  tide. 

UMBLE  yourselves  under  the  mighty 
^IJ  hand  of  God,  that  he  may  exalt  you  in 
due  time ;  Casting  all  your  care  upon 
him,  for  he  careth  for  you.  Like  as  a  father 
pitieth  his  children,  so  the  Lord  pitieth  them 
that  fear  him.  For  he  knoweth  our  frame ; 
he  reroembereth  that  we  are  dust. 

His  eyes  are  upon  the  ways  of  man ;  he 
seeth  all  his  goings ;  and  he  will  not  lay  upon 
man  more  than  is  right.      Though  he  cause 


DIVINE    CONSOLATIONS   FOR   THE   SICK.     67 

grief,  yet  will  he  have  compassion  accordinnr 
to  the  multitude  of  his  mercies.  For  he  doth 
not  afflict  wlUInglj,  nor  grieve  the  children  of 
men. 

They  that  sow  in  tears  shall  reap  in  joy. 
He  that  goeth  forth  and  weepeth,  bearing 
precious  seed,  shall  doubtless  come  again 
with  rejoicing,  bringing  his  sheaves  with  him. 


Beloved,   think  it  not   strano^e    concernlnf^ 
the  fiery  trial  which  is  to  try  you,  as  though 
some  strange  thing  happened  unto  you ;  But 
rejoice,    inasmuch    as    ye    are   partakers    of 
Christ's    suiFerings,    that   when    Ms   glory   is 
revealed,  ye  may  be  glad  also  with  exceeding 
joy- 
Despise  not  the  chastening  of  the  Lord; 
neither  be  weary  of  his  correction  :  For  whom 
the   Lord   loveth   he   correcteth;    even   as    a 
father  the  son  in  whom  he   delighteth.      No 
chastening    for    the    present    seemeth   to   be 
joyous,    but   grievous;   nevertheless   it   after- 
ward yieldeth  the  peaceable  fruits  of  righte- 


6^  DIVINE   CONSOLATIONS 

ousness  to  tliem  that  are  exercised  theYehy\ 
For  I  reckon  that  the  suiFerings  of  this  present 
time  are  not  worthy  to  be  compared  with  the 
glory  which  shall  be  revealed  in  us. 

It  is  the  Lord,  let  him  do  what  seemeth  to 
Iiim  good.  In  a  dream,  in  a  vision  of  the 
night,  when  deep  sleep  falleth  upon  men,  in 
slumberings  upon  the  bed ;  Then  he  openeth 
the  ears  of  men,  and  sealeth  their  instruction, 
that  he  may  withdraw  man  from  his  purpose, 
and  hide  pride  from  man. 

He  chasteneth  him  also  with  pain  upon 
his  bed,  and  the  multitude  of  his  bones  with 
strong  pain  ;  So  that  his  life  abhorreth  bread, 
and  his  soul  dainty  meat.  His  flesh  is  con- 
sumed away,  that  it  cannot  be  seen ;  and  his 
bones  that  were  not  seen  stick  out.  Yea, 
his  soul  draweth  near  unto  the  grave,  and  his 
life  to  destruction. 

If  there  be  a  messenger  with  him,  an  inter- 
preter, one  among  a  thousand,  to  show  man 
his   uprightness ;    Then   is   he   gracious   unto 


FOR   THE    SICK.  69 

him,  and  saith,  Deliver  him  from  going  down 
to  the  grave  :  I  have  found  a  ransom. 

His  flesh  shall  be  fresher  than  a  child's  :  he 
shall  return  to  the  days  of  liis  youth :  He 
shall  pray  unto  God,  and  he  will  be  favorable 
unto  him  ;  and  he  shall  see  his  face  with  joy ; 
for  he  will  render  unto  man  his  righteousness. 
He  keepeth  back  his  soul  from  the  grave,  and 
his  life  from  perisliing.  Lo,  all  these  things 
worketh  God  oftentimes  with  man.  It  is 
good,  therefore,  that  a  man  should  both  hope 
and  quietly  wait  for  the  salvation  of  the  Lord. 


Call  upon  me  in  the  day  of  trouble  :  I  will 
deliver  thee,  and  thou  shalt  glorify  me.  I 
will  strengthen  thee ;  yea,  I  will  help  thee ; 
yea,  I  will  uphold  thee  with  the  right  hand  of 
my  righteousness. 

Then  shalt  thou  lift  up  thy  face  without  spot ; 
yea,  thou  shalt  bo  steadfast,  and  shalt  not  fear. 
Because  thou  shalt  forget  thy  misery,  and  re- 
member it  only  as  waters  that  pass  away. 

And  thou  shalt  be  secure,  because  there  is 


70  DIVINE   CONSOLATIONS 

hope ;  thou  shalt  take  thy  rest  in  safety ; 
When  thou  liest  down,  thou  shalt  not  be 
afraid;  yea,  thou  shalt  lie  down,  and  thy 
sleep  shall  be  sweet :  For  he  giveth  his  be- 
loved sleep ;  the  Lord  shall  give  thee  rest 
from  thy  sorrow. 

Behold  the  fowls  of  the  air,  for  they 
sow  not,  neither  do  they  reap,  nor  gather 
into  barns ;  yet  your  heavenly  Father  feedetli 
them.  Are  ye  not  much  better  than  tlicy  ? 
Are  not  five  sparrows  sold  for  two  farthings  ^ 
and  not  one  of  them  is  forgotten  before  G  cd  ? 
But  even  the  very  hairs  of  your  head  are  all 
numbered.  Fear  not,  therefore ;  ye  are  of 
more  value  than  many  sparrows. 

Come  unto  me  all  ye  that  labor  and  are 
heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest.  Take 
my  yoke  upon  you,  and  learn  of  me,  for  I  am 
meek  and  lowly  in  heart ;  and  ye  shall  find 
rest  unto  your  souls.  For  my  yoke  is  easy, 
and  my  burden  is  light. 


FOR  THE   SICK.  71 

Peace  I  leave  with  you,  my  peace  I  give 
unto  you :  not  as  the  world  giveth,  give  I 
unto  you.  Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled, 
neither  let  it  be  afraid. 

For  to  this  end  Christ  died,  and  rose,  and 
revived,  that  he  might  be  Lord  both  of  the 
dead  and  the  living.  For  none  of  us  liveth 
to  himself,  and  no  man  dieth  to  himself.  For 
whether  we  live,  we  live  unto  the  Lord ;  and 
whether  we  die,  we  die  unto  the  Lord: 
whether  we  live  therefore  or  die,  we  are  the 
Lord's. 

For  we  know  that,  if  our  earthly  house  of 
this  tabernacle  were  dissolved,  we  have  a 
building  of  God,  a  house  not  made  with 
hands,  eternal  in  the  heavens.  For  which 
cause  we  faint  not ;  for  though  our  outward 
man  perish,  yet  the  inward  man  is  renewed 
day  by  day  :  For  our  light  affliction,  which  is 
but  for  a  moment,  worketh  for  us  a  far  more 
exceeding  and  eternal  weight  of  glory. 

For  this  corruptible  must  put  on  incorrup- 


72   DIVINE   CONSOLATIONS   FOR  TIIE  SICK. 

tiou,  and  this  mortal  must  put  on  immortality. 
And  as  we  have  borne  the  image  of  the 
earthy,  we  shall  also  bear  the  image  of  the 
heavenly. 

And  God  shall  wipe  away  all  tears,  and 
there  shall  be  no  more  death,  neither  sorrow, 
nor  ciying,  neither  shall  there  be  any  more 
pain ;  for  the  former  things  are  passed  away  ! 


Yea,  though  I  walk  through  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of  Death,  I 
will  fear  no  evil,  for  thou  art  with  me ;  thy  rod  and  thy  staff  they 
comfort  me. — Psalm  xxiii.  4. 


Over  the  river  tliey  beckon  to  me  — 

Loved  ones  who've  crossed  to  the  further  side ; 
The  gleam  of  their  snowy  robes  I  see, 

But  their  voices  are  drowned  by  the  dashing  tide. 

And  none  return  from  those  quiet  shores, 

Who  cross  with  the  boatman  cold  and  pale  ; 
We  hear  the  dip  of  the  golden  oars, 

And  catch  a  gleam  of  the  snowy  sail, 
And  lo !  they  have  passed  from  the  yearning  hearty 

They  cross  the  stream,  and  are  gone  for  aye  ; 
We  may  not  sunder  the  veil  apart 

That  hides  from  our  vision  the  gates  of  day ; 
We  only  know  that  their  barques  no  more 

May  Bail  with  ours  o'er  life's  stormy  sea ; 
Yet  somewhere  I  know,  on  the  unseen  shore, 

They  watch,  and  beckon,  and  wait  for  me. 

And  I  sit  and  think  when  the  sunset's  gold 

Is  flushing  river,  and  hill,  and  shore, 
I  ^all  one  day  stand  by  the  water  cold, 

And  list  for  the  sound  of  the  boatman's  oar : 
I  shall  watch  for  a  gleam  of  the  flapping  sail ; 

I  shall  hear  the  boat  as  it  gains  the  strand ; 
I  shall  pass  from  sight  with  the  boatman  pale 

To  the  better  shores  of  the  spirit-land. 

I  shall  know  the  loved  who  have  gone  before, 
And  joyfully  sweet  will  the  meeting  be, 

When  over  the  river,  the  peaceful  river, 
The  angel  of  Death  shall  carry  me. 


L 


And  we  only  know,  when  we  hear  no  more, 

As  we  watch  for  the  parting  breath, 
That  an  angel  is  tenderly  lifting  them  down 

The  banks  of  the  river  of  death  — 
Only  know  that  their  footsteps  are  pressing  the  sandf 

That  are  washed  by  the  hurrying  waves, 
And  that  over  the  billows  outstretched  are  their  hands, 

To  the  shore  that  their  brightness  laves. 

NE  of  the  most  beautiful  metaphors  by 
W  which  we  represent  the  passage  from 
this  world  to  another,  is  that  embodied 
in  the  title  of  this  little  volume  —  Over  the 
River.  It  is  not  afar  off,  that  other  world ; 
it  is  not  beyond  the  waste  wilderness  of  space, 
hidden  in  the  invisible  abysses  of  the  heav- 
ens —  but  it  is  near  to  us,  close  at  hand  ;  just 
over  the  river,  and  we  are  there! 


76  <*OVER  THE   EIVER." 

And  the  way  to  it  Is  not  .long.  It  may 
sometimes  be  toilsome ;  it  may  have  difficult 
places,  and  the  flinty  rock  and  the  sharp  thorn 
may  sometimes  tear  the  tender  feet.  But  the 
River  is  not  distant  —  at  the  longest,  the  way 
does  not  stretch  much  beyond  threescore  and 
ten  or  fourscore  miles.  And  then,  when  our 
strength  fails,  we  embark  for  the  land  of  rest ; 
we  are  borne  across  the  river,  and  almost  ere 
we  know  it,  we  are  stepping  forth  upon  the 
green  shores  of  the  land  of  the  immortals. 
And  then,  rested  and  refreshed,  our  burthens 
laid  aside,  our  youth  renewed,  what  a  world 
of  beauty,  what  a  life  of  joy  opens  before  us  ! 

And  there  are  our  companions  too,  they 
who  crossed  the  river  before  us ;  the  beloved, 
the  beautiful,  who  wait  for  us  on  the  other 
shore.  KnoAving  of  our  coming,  they  leave 
all  else  to  come  down  to  the  river's  bank,  that 
they  may  be  the  first  to  welcome  us  to  the 
land  of  the  blessed,  the  home  of  the  children 
of  God.  They  have  wandered  over  the  green 
fields,  and  through  the  rose-wreathed  bowers, 


*«OVER   THE   RIVER."  77 

and  along  the  winding  paths,  and  the  hillsides 
bright  with  flowers ;  they  have  breathed  the 
pure  airs,  and  rejoiced  in  the  delicious  melo- 
dies, of  the  Lord's  Paradise  —  and  so  thej 
know  what  joys  await  us,  what  blessedness 
unspeakable  will  be  ours  and  theirs  together. 

They  will  be  the  first,  therefore,  to  greet 
us  when  we  reach  the  other  side  —  they  who 
knew  us  and  loved  us  here.  And  what  a 
sweet  surprise,  what  a  new  gladness  to  us, 
when  first  we  open  our  eyes  upon  the  realities 
of  the  spiritual  world,  to  behold  the  dear  faces 
of  those  who  in  this  world  were  our  heart's 
treasures,  and  who,  when  they  went  away, 
left  such  sorrow  beliind  them.  O  the  bhss  of 
that  meeting,  the  ecstasy  of  that  welcome  from 
the  beloved  over  the  river !  How  it  takes 
from  the  sharp  pain  of  parting  with  those 
who  are  here,  when  we  know  how  soon  we 
shall  be  with  those  who  are  there.  And,  how 
it  soothes  the  bereaved  and  desolate  heart  to 
feel  that  the  precious  ones,  who  have  gone, 
or  aa'e  going,  will  find  familiar  spirits,  dear 


78 


friends,  waiting  for  them  on  the  heavenly 
shore,  ready  to  lead  them  to  the  Saviour,  and 
to  walk  with  them  through  the  many  mansions 
of  the  Father's  house. 

Ah,  how  much  it  would  narrow  the  river  of 
death,  how  nigh  to  us  it  would  bring  the 
spirit  land,  and  those  who  have  passed  the 
boundaries  of  time  into  the  life  immortal  —  if 
we  could  only  come  always  to  think  and  feel 
in  this  way.  And  it  requires  only  that  we 
should  make  our  faith  living  and  earnest  as 
that  of  the  early  disciples,  to  have  this  bles- 
sing realized  unto  our  souls.  They  believed 
in  Jesus,  and  in  the  grand  revelation  of  life 
illustrated  and  confirmed  by  his  resurrection. 
They  believed  that  the  future  hinged  on  to  the 
present,  and  that  the  river  which  separates 
this  world  from  the  other,  is  of  so  little 
breadth,  that  the  farther  shore  is  almost  visi- 
ble from  this  side  to  the  clear  sight  of  Chris- 
tian faith.  And  sometimes,  when  lifted  up 
by  the  inspirations  of  this  faith,  and  standing 
rapt  on  the  mount  of  vision,  they  seemed  for 


**OVER   THE   EIVER."  79 

a  moment  to  get  actual  sight  of  the  green 
fields  and  purple  hills  of  the  heavenly  country. 

So  it  always  is,  or  may  be.  Where  there 
is  true  and  living  faith,  there  is  spiritual  vis- 
ion. The  Christian,  who  makes  the  teachings 
of  the  Saviour  real,  who  incorporates  into  his 
inmost  being  the  elements  of  his  revelations, 
makes  his  truth  the  soul's  bread  of  life,  lays 
hold  upon  the  doctrine  of  immortality  —  he  is 
gifted  thereby  with  a  new  power  of  spiritual 
sight.  And,  though  he  may  not  always  be 
able  to  pierce  through  the  mists  w^hich  lie 
along  the  river  of  death,  his  soul  is  some- 
times lifted  above  them,  and  he  sees  over  and 
across,  and  gets  glimpses  of  the  splendors  that 
stream  up  from  the  city  of  God,  the  heavenly 
Jerusalem. 

It  is  not  the  peculiar  gift  of  those  who  stood 
near  to  Jesus  —  this  far  sight  to  the  green 
fields  and  the  blessed  abodes  beyond  the 
swelling  flood.  Not  only  the  favored  ones 
who  listened  to  truth  as  it  fell  from  his  lips, 
but  all  his  disciples,  in  all  ages  of  the  world, 


80 


enjoy  the  same  privilege.  We  of  to-day,  if 
we  will  appropriate  the  life-giving  doctrines 
of  the  Saviour,  and  weave  them  up  into  the 
very  texture  of  our  souls,  may  take  the  bles- 
sing and  the  rewkrd  —  for  it  is  the  reward  of 
a  diligent  culture  of  the  religious  nature,  of 
faith  in  Christ  and  the  Gospel. 

The  beauties  of  the  landscape  are  realities  ; 
they  are  there  in  all  their  substance  and 
attractiveness  —  but  only  the  eye  of  the  artist, 
of  the  true  lover  and  diligent  student  of  na- 
ture, takes  them  all  in,  and  detects  the  mi- 
nute and  delicate  lines  and  touches  which  so 
largely  make  up  the  charm  of  the  picture. 

So  the  country  over  the  river  is  a  reality, 
a  substantive  glory;  but  the  soul  that  can 
grasp  it  in  thought  and  faith,  must  be  trained 
to  it  by  a  true  Christian  life.  The  departed 
are  there,  radiant  with  happiness,  rejoicing 
in  the  wondrous  beauties  of  the  heavenly 
Eden,  coming  down  often  to  the  very  banks 
of  the  river,  flinging  flowers  upon  its  flow- 
ing   bosom,    which   sometimes   drift   over   to 


««OVER   THE   RIVER."      "  81 

our  shore  —  but  he  who  would  look  across  to 
where  they  are,  must  accustom  his  eyes  to 
this  work.  It  is  not  the  distance,  but  our 
own  short-sightedness,  the  dimness  of  our 
vision  that  hinders  us.  We  must  clear  our 
eyes  of  the  film  that  the  world  has  gathered 
upon  them,  we  must  strive  to  clarify  the 
atmosphere  on  this  side  the  river ;  and  then, 
if  not  always,  yet  sometimes  in  our  moments 
of  exaltation,  when  the  soul  is  lifted  up  by 
prayer  or  praise  or  spiritual  communion,  we 
may  hope  to  catch  sight  of  the  heavenly 
heights  beyond  the  river,  and  of  the  glorified 
forms  of  those  who  are  ''children  of  God, 
being  cliildren  of  the  Resurrection." 

This  is  what  the  apostle  means,  when  he 
says  "Faith  is  the  substance  of  things  hoped 
for,  the  evidence  of  things  not  seen  "  with  the 
natural  eye.  He  has  spoken  of  the  righteous 
men  of  the  early  times,  the  sainted  souls  who 
walked  with  God  on  earth ;  and  then  he  adds 
In  beautiful  phrase  —  '*  These  all  died  in 
faith,  not  having  received  the  promises,  but 
6 


82 


Laving  seen  tliem  jifar  off,  and  were  persuaded 
of  tliem,  and  embraced  them,  and  confessed 
that  they  were  strangers  and  pilgrims  on  the 
earth.  For  they  that  say  snch  things  dccLare 
plainly  that  they  seek  a  countiy.  And  truly, 
if  they  had  been  mindful  of  (desirous  of, 
attached  to)  that  coimtry  from  whence  they 
came  out,  they  might  have  had  opportunity  to 
have  returned.  But  now  they  desire  a  better 
country,  that  is  an  heavenly  :  wherefore  God 
is  not  ashamed  to  be  called  their  God,  for  he 
hath  prepared  for  them  a  city."  —  Heb.  xi. 

These  ancient  worthies,  far  back  in  the  dim 
twilight  of  the  world's  morning,  seeing  the 
promises  imperfectly,  afar  off,  still  walked 
forward  in  faith,  persuaded  that  the  good  God 
who  had  made  them,  had  '^provided  for  them 
some  better  thing  "  than  this  life  had  brought 
them.  They  did  not  comprehend  the  fulness 
of  the  blessing  in  store  for  them.  The  Sun  of 
Righteousness  had  not  risen  upon  them ;  and 
the  mists  and  fogs  which  hung  over  the  river 
were  thick  and  heavy  —  and  they  could  not 


"OVER   THE  RIVER."  83 

see  across.  But  they  believed  in  the  better 
country,  and  felt  that  they  were  only  sojourn- 
ers and  strangers  here,  and,  however  feeble 
their  vision,  they  still  went  forward  with  a 
patient  courage,  and  died  in  the  faith. 

But  with  the  Christian  it  is  not  early  morn- 
ing, but  the  noon  of  the  day.  With  us  it  is 
no  longer  dim  and  **afar  off;"  but  near  unto 
us,  and  visible  to  the  eye  of  perfect  Christian 
faith.  The  <*  evidence"  and  the  '<  substance" 
are  ours  —  if  we  are  true  to  our  opportunities, 
and  diligently  use  the  appointed  means  for 
training  and  strengthening  our  spiritual  sight. 
And  if  those  saintly  men  of  old  so  mastered 
the  ills  and  sorrows  of  life,  and  came  to  the 
river's  bank  so  calmly,  with  such  sweet  peace 
at  the  heart  —  O  how  ought  it  to  be  with  us, 
who  have  seen  the  empty  sepulchre  of  Jesus, 
and  know  the  power  of  liis  Kesurrection  ! 

If  these  old  patriarchs  could  trust  in  the 
promises,  and  **die  in  faith,"  what  courage, 
what  triumph  should  be  ours  who  have  the 
promises   fulfilled  unto  us !     What  comfort. 


84  **oVek  the  eivek." 

what  confidence,  what  victory  for  us,  since 
Jesus  died  that  he  might  *' deliver  them  who, 
through  fear  of  death,  were  all  their  life- 
time subject  to  bondage  !  "  —  Heb.  ii. 

And  often  I  sit  at  the  casement  alone, 

And  I  list,  if  perchance  I  may  hear, 
The  flutter  of  sails,  and  the  rushing  of  waves, 

And  the  dash  of  a  gilded  oar. 
As  the  boatman  starts  from  his  emferald  caves 

To  carry  me  down  to  the  shore  — 
And  I  wait  for  the  swoop  of  an  angel  wing. 

And  the  clasp  of  an  angel  hand, 
For  the  sound  of  a  harp  and  the  chant  of  a  hymn, 

And  the  light  of  the  glory  land. 

But,  alas  !  I  listen  and  wait  in  vain  ; 

Yet  I  know  that  my  weary  feet 
Shall  wander  ere  long  from  the  valley  of  pain, 

To  the  rivei  so  solemn  and  sweet. 
I  shall  go  with  the  boatman,  changeless  and  pale, 

And  each  woe  that  my  heart  has  known, 
Each  agonized  cry,  each  desolate  wail. 

Each  fearful  and  piteous  moan, 
Shall  be  swept  away  by  the  murmurous  waves, 

From  my  spirit  so  joyous  and  free. 
When  I  see  the  smiles  of  the  lovely  who  wait 

On  the  beautiful  shore  for  mc. 


11. 


I  know  not  the  way  I  am  going, 

But  well  do  I  know  my  Guide ; 
With  a  childlike  trust  I  give  my  hand 

To  the  mighty  Friend  by  my  side. 

'Tis  home,  'tis  home,  that  we  wish  to  reach ; 

He  who  guides  us  may  choose  the  way ; 
For  little  we  heed  what  path  we  take, 

If  we're  n«arer  home  each  day. 

FREQUENT  and  pleasing  figure  or 
metaphor  of  the  Scriptures,  is  that 
which  represents  mankind  as  sojourn- 
ers or  .temporary  dwellers  on  earth,  haying 
their  home  or  permanent  residence  in  heaven. 
David,  in  his  prayer  to  the  Lord,  says,  *'A11 
things  come  of  Thee,  and  of  thine  own  have 


SQ  THE   EARTHLY   TENT  — 

we  given  Tliee.  For  we  are  strangers  before 
Thee,  and  sojourners,  as  were  all  our  fathers  ; 
our  days  on  earth  are  as  a  shadow,  and 
there  is  none  abiding."  —  1  Chronicles  xxix. 
And  Peter  says,  "If  ye  call  on  the  Father, 
who  without  respect  of  persons  judgeth  ac- 
cording to  every  man's  work,  pass  the  time  of 
your  sojourning  here  in  fear ;  '^  that  is,  rever- 
ently toward  this  Father.  Then  there  were 
the  ancient  saints  who  "confessed  that  they 
were  strangers  and  pilgrims  on  the  earth." 

This  figure  furnishes  abundant  subject  mat- 
ter for  meditation,  and  presents  a  pleasing 
and  consoling  truth  to  the  thought  of  the  suf- 
ferer, and  of  those  who  have  seen  their  be- 
loved pass  on  out  of  their  sight.  This  is  not 
our  home  —  we  are  away  from  home  in  this 
world.  We  are  ti^vellers,  sojourning  here 
and  there,  on  the  way  to  the  country  beyond 
the  river,  our  native  land,  from  which  we 
went  out  at  birth.  "We  have  no  continuing 
city  here,  but  we  seek  one  to  come;"  as  did 
the  old  patriarch,  who  "sojourned  in  the  land 


THE   HEAVENLY   HOUSE.  87 

of  promise,  as  in  a  strange  country,  dwelling 
in  tabernacles  witli  Isaac  and  Jacob,  the  heirs 
with  him  of  the  same  promise  —  for  he  looked 
for  a  city  which  hath  foundations,  whose 
maker  and  builder  is  God." 

We  should   seek   to   be   in   this  frame   of 
mind,  to  feel  with  Abraham  that  we  are  pil- 
grims in  this  foreign  land,  journeying  forward 
every  day  toward  a  city  having  foundations, 
the  Xew  Jerusalem  on  high.     We  ought  to 
make  this  a  subject  of  frequent  thought,  and 
cheerfully  look  forward  to  the  time  when  we 
shall  go  to  take  possession   of  our  heavenly 
mansion  —  or  in  the  language  of  the  apostle, 
when  we   shall   *'come  unto  mount  Sion,  and 
unto  the  city  of  the  living  God,  the  heavenly 
Jerusalem,  and  to   an  innumerable   company 
of  angels,  and  to   the  general   assembly  and 
Church  of  the  first-born,  which  are  written  in 
heaven,  and  to  God  the  Judge   of  all,  and  to 
the   spirits   of  just  men  made  perfect,  and  to 
Jesus  the  mediator  of  the  new  covenant." 
What  a  glorious  company,  indeed,  ready  to 


8S  THE    EARTHLY   TENT 

receive  us,  and  give  us  welcome  wlien  we 
come  into  tliat  beautiful  land  wherein  we  are 
to  abide  forever.  It  is  something,  truly,  to 
look  forward  to,  to  be  glad  for;  something 
to  give  courage  and  strength  as  we  travel  on 
through  the  pleasant  valleys,  or  the  waste 
wilderness,  or  over  the  rough  mountain  passes 
of  life.  It  is  a  sweet  and  soothing  thought, 
that  every  day  is  one  remove  nearer  to  the 
mansions  of  the  Blessed,  where  all  our  jour- 
neyings  shall  end  in  the  dear  quiet  of  home ; 
where  all  the  saints  of  earth  and  of  heaven, 
and  all  the  great  and  good  of  all  ages  and  all 
worlds,  are  waiting  to  greet  us  with  rcjoic- 
iuGjs,  to  embrace  us  in  the  arms  of  everlasting' 
love. 

Tired  with  our  long  travel,  fainting  with 
hunger  and  thirst,  the  hot  sun  of  the  desert 
blazing  upon  us,  O  how  grateful  to  the  sink- 
ing frame  is  the  sight  of  the  green  and  shady 
palms,  that  lift  their  tall  plumes  along  the 
horizon,  and  discover  to  us  the  boimdariesj 
the  end  at  last,  of  the  great  sand  waste ;  the 


THE   HEAVENLY   HOUSE.  89 

region  of  grass  and  flowers  and  fruits  and 
running  waters,  the  shady  nook  in  which 
nestles  *'the  sweet,  sweet  home,"  where  we 
shall  find  rest  and  peace,  and  all  the  joys 
of  tender  est  affection  for  evermore.  Some  one 
has  said' in  pleasant  phrase,  and  to  be  remem- 
bered by  all,  — 

"  Here  in  the  body  pent, 

Absent  from  heaven  I  roam, 
Tet  nightly  pitch  my  moving  tent 

A  day's  march  nearer  home." 

How  beautiful,  how  comforting !  Absent 
from  heaven,  from  home,  yet  every  night  we 
are  one  day's  march  nearer  to  it ;  one  day  less 
between  us  and  those  we  love,  those  who  are 
waiting  to  welcome  us  to  the  city  of  God,  and 
to  bring  us  to  the  place  of  our  rest. 

And  this  leads  to  that  beautiful  passage  of 
Paul  in  2  Corinthians  v.  1  :  "For  we  know 
that  if  our  earthly  house  of  this  tabernacle 
(tent)  were  dissolved,  we  have  a  building  of 
God,  an  house  not  made  with  hands,  eternal 
in  the  heavens " — or  substantially,  ''we  know 


90  THE    EARTHLY   TENT 

when  our  temjjorary  tent  of  tlie  body  is  struck 
on  earth,  we  have  from  God  an  eternal  house, 
not  made  with  hands,  In  the  heavens."  The 
beauty  and  force  of  this  passage  Is  mostly 
lost  In  the  common  translation.  The  contrast 
which  the  apostle  sets  out  is  between  a  move- 
able tent  and  a  permanent  house ;  between  a 
temporary  sojourn,  a  journey,  a  pilgrimage  on 
earth,  and  an  eternal  residence  in  heaven. 

There  Is  allusion  to  the  ancient  Jewish 
tabernacle,  which  was  only  a  temporary  abode, 
and  which,  whenever  the  Israelites  moved 
from  the  place  of  their  sojourning  on  the  way 
to  the  promised  lapd,  was  dissolved,  or  taJ^en 
in  pieces,  and  the  ark  of  the  covenant,  covered 
with  its  own  curtains,  was  carried  forward  by 
Itself.  The  comparison  is  between  this  hum- 
ble tabernacle  or  tent,  thus  taken  to  pieces 
and  moved  from  station  to  station,  and  the 
splendid  temple  in  which  the  sacred  ark  found 
a  fixed  and  permanent  abode. 
-  So  the  body  is  the  tabernacle,  or  tent,  in 
which  the   spirit  takes  up  Its  abode  while  on 


THE    HEAVENLY    HOUSE.  91 

its  journey  to  the  promised  land ;  and  ^^'hen 
this  mortal  habitation  is  dissolved,  when  the 
tent  is  struck  by  Death,  then  the  soul  is 
clothed  upon  with  the  immortal,  and  enters 
into  its  heavenly  ho2ise,  the  building  of  God, 
where,  its  pilgrimage  ended,  it  will  dwell 
rejoicingly  forevermore !  Hence  Paul  says, 
*'we  desire  to  be  clothed  upon  with  our  house 
which  is  from  heaven  ;  for  we  that  are  in  this 
tent  (tabernacle)  do  groan,  being  burdened; 
not  that  we  would  be  unclothed,  but  clothed 
upon,  that  mortality  may  be  swallowed  up  of 
life  ....  knowing  that,  whilst  we  are  at 
home  in  the  body,  we  are  absent  from  the 
Lord  —  for  we  walk  by  faith  and  not  by 
sight." 

There  is  no  metaphor  in  all  the  Bible  more 
beautiful  than  this,  or  more  full  of  comfort  to 
the  weary  toiler,  to  the  lieart  that  has  been 
bereaved,  to  the  poor  sufferer  who  with  failin^^ 
strength  and  trembling  step  is  approaching 
the  end  of  his  Life  pilgrimage.  At  home 
in  the  body  we   are   absent  from  the  Lord; 


5)2  THE   EARTHLY   TENT 

dwelling  In  tents  we  have  no  fixed  habitation, 
we  are  travelling  onward  toward  the  city 
where  our  home  is  to  be,  where  our  kindred 
dwell,  or  will  by  and  by  come  to  join  us. 
Here  everything  is  transient,  changing,  tem- 
porary—  there  everything  is  permanent,  fixed 
and  final.  Here  we  meet  and  part ;  to-day 
we  are  together  rejoicing,  and  to-morrow  we 
are  scattered  in  sadness  and  tears.  But  there 
we  are  together  always,  no  more  separation 
nor  sadness,  we  are  at  home  in  the  many  man- 
sions of  our  Father's  house.  Tliis  thought  of 
the  Heavenly  Home,  and  the  transfer  to  it  of 
one  after  another  of  the  family  circle,  till  all 
our  heart's  treasures  are  on  the  other  side, 
finds  beautiful  expression  in  the  following 
passage  from  ''Athanasia,  or  Foregieams  of 
Immortality : " 

^'Our  home  is  always  where  our  affections  are. 
We  sigh  and  wander,  we  vibrate  to  and  fro, 
till  we  rest  in  that  special  centre  where  our 
deepest  loves  are  garnered  up.  Then  the 
heart  fills  and  brims  over  with  its  own  happi- 


THE   HEAVENLY  HOUSE.  93 

ness.  and  spreads  sweetness  and  fertility  all 
around  It.  Very  often  wlien  the  eyes  are 
closing  In  death,  and  this  world  is  shutting 
off  the  light  from  the  departing  soul,  the  last 
wish  which  is  made  audible  Is  '  to  go  home.' 
The  words  break  out  sometimes  through  the 
cloud  of  delirium ;  but  it  is  the  soul's  deep- 
est and  most  central  want,  groping  after  its 
object,  haply  soon  to  find  it  as  the  clogs  of 
earth  clear  away,  and  she  springs  up  on  the 
line  of  swift  affection,  as  the  bee  with  unerring 
precision  shoots  through  the  dusk  of  evening 
to  her  cell. 

*  *  How  admirable  are  the  arrangements  of 
Providence  by  which  he  gradually  removes  the 
home-centre  from  tliis  world  to  the  other,  and 
so  draws  our  affections  towards  the  heavenly 
abodes  !  We  start  in  life  an  unbroken  com- 
pany ;  brothers  and  sisters,  friends  and  lovers, 
neighbors  and  comrades,  are  with  us ;  there  is 
circle  within  circle,  and  each  one  of  us  is  at 
the  charmed  centre  where  the  heart's  affections 
are   aglow,  and  whence  they  radiate  outward 


94  THE    EAllTIILY    TENT 

upon  society.  Youth  is  exuberant  witli  joy 
and  hope,  the  earth  looks  fair,  for  it  sparkles 
with  May-dews  wet,  and  no  shadow  hath 
fallen  upon  it.  We  are  all  here,  and  we  could 
live  here  forever.  The  home-centre  is  on  the 
hither  side  of  the  river,  and  w4iy  should  we 
strain  our  eyes  to  look  beyond?  But  this 
state  of  thinc^s  does  not  continue  lono^.  Our 
circle  growls  less  and  less.  It  is  broken  and 
broken,  and  then  closes  up  again ;  but  every 
break  and  close  make  it  narrower  and  smaller. 
Perhaps  before  the  sun  is  at  his  meridian  the 
majority  are  on  the  other  side,  the  circle  there 
is  as  large  as  the  one  here,  and  we  are  drawn 
contrariwise  and  vibrate  between  the  two.  A 
little  lonG^er,  and  we  have  almost  all  crossed 
over ;  the  balance  settles  down  on  the  spir- 
itual side,  and  the  home-centre  is  removed  to 
the  upper  sphere." 

O  child  of  sorrow  !  cherish  these  pleasing 
and  consoling  thoughts.  Take  to  your  heart 
these  gospel  truths,  and  you  shall  find  in 
them  that  peace  which  passeth  knowledge,  and 


THE   HEAVENLY  HOUSE.  95 

abldeth  forever.  If  the  benignant  face  and 
venerable  form  of  a  parent  is  missed  from 
your  fireside,  if  the  beloved  companion,  the 
chosen  of  your  affections,  if  any  of  the  dear 
iambs  of  the  flock,  have  left  you,  and  passed 
on  over  the  river ;  remember,  they  have^  only 
gone  home,  they  have  finished  the  journey 
of  life,  they  have  laid  aside  the  worn  and 
weather-beaten  tent,  and  have  entered  into 
that  ''building  of  God,  not  made  with  hands, 
eternal  in  the  heavens."  No  more  wanderings 
for  them,  no  more  journeyings  in  the  desert, 
no  more  faintness  nor  weariness.  ''They 
shall  not  hunger  nor  thirst ;  neither  shall  the 
heat  nor  the  sun  smite  them  ;  for  he  that  hath 
mercy  on  them  shall  lead  them,  even  by 
the  springs  of  water  shall  he  guide  them." 
Henceforth,  to  every  one  of  these  foot- worm 
and  drooping  pilgrims,  the  words  of  the  sweet 
singer  of  Israel  will  be  realized  :  ' '  The  Lord 
is  thy  keeper,  the  Lord  is  thy  shade  upon  thy 
right  hand.  The  sun  shall  not  smite  thee  by 
day,  nor  the  moon  by  night.     The  Lord  shall 


96  THE    EAllTIILY   TENT — 

preserve  thee  from  all  evil :  he  shall  preserve 
thy  soul.  The  Lord  shall  chrect  thy  going 
out  and  thy  coming  in,  even  forevermore." 

And  you,  too,  poor  afflicted  soul,  upon 
whom  the  hand  of  suffering  has  been  laid  so 
heavily,  wasting  with  consumption,  devoured 
with  fever,  racked  with  convulsions,  or  frantic 
with  the  streaming  anguish  of  nerves  on  fire  ; 
over  whom  the  weary  days  and  the  long  nights 
pass  in  sad  procession,  bringing  no  relief.  O 
be  patient,  and  brave,  and  hopeful  —  every 
setting  sun  brings  you  farther  on  your  way 
through  the  burning  sands ;  every  night  you 
pitch  your  frail  and  shattered  tent  * '  a  day's 
march  nearer  home."  Be  patient  and  endur- 
ing, for  the  river  is  not  far  off  now,  and  on 
its  banks  you  may  strike  your  tent  for  the 
last  time ;  and,  passing  over  to  the  other 
shore,  you  will  be  welcomed  by  the  immortal 
spirits  waiting  to  receive  you,  and  to  lead 
you  to  your  heavenly  habitation.  And  there 
* '  God  shall  wijpe  away  all  tears  from  your  eyes  ; 
and  there  shall  he  no  more  death,  neither  sorrow, 


THE   HEAVENLY   HOUSE.  97 

nor  crying,  neither  shall  there  he  any  more  pain : 
Jbr  the  former  things  are  passed  away^^ 

"  Worn  and  weaiy,  ofl  the  pilgrim 

Hails  the  setting  of  the  sun  ; 
For  his  goal  is  one  day  nearer, 

And  bis  journey  nearly  dona. 
ThTis  we  feel  when  o'er  life's  desert, 

Heart  and  sandal  sore  we  roam ; 
As  the  twilight  gathers  o'er  us, 

We  are  one  day  nearer  home. 

**  Nearer  home !    Yes,  one  day  nearer 

To  our  Father's  house  on  high  — 
To  the  green  fields  and  the  fountainfl 

Of  the  land  beyond  the  sky : 
For  the  heavens  grow  brighter  o'er  us» 

And  the  lamps  hang  in  the  dome, 
And  our  tents  are  pitched  still  closer, 

For  we're  one  day  nearer  home," 


^m^^f)- 


III. 


"With  her  eyelids  closed  and  her  lips  apart, 

And  her  arms  like  the  marble  fair, 
Crossed  on  her  bosom,  and  gently  prest. 
She  lay,  as  she  sank  to  her  peaceful  rest, 

In  the  mute  repose  of  prayer. 
When  the  morning  broke  and  we  gazed  again, 

A  smile  to  her  face  seemed  given  ; 
And  though  our  spirits  were  crushed  and  sad, 
The  Christmas  bells  soon  made  us  glad. 

For  we  knew  she  woke  in  Heayen. 

OR  SO  he  givetli  his  beloved  sleep." 
The  relation  of  death  to  sleep  Is  recog- 
nised among  all  nations,  in  one  form  or 
another.  Not  unfrequentiy  sleep  is  made  the 
symbol  of  death ;  and  sometimes  it  is  desig- 
nated by  that  name.  This  is  the  case  both  in 
the  Old  and  New  Testament  scriptures,  more 
especially  in  the  New.     ''For  the  maid  is  not 


FALLING   ASLEEP.  99 

dead,  but  sleepeth;"  *'our  friend  Lazarus 
eleepeth;"  **them  who  sleep  in  Jesus  will 
God  bring  with  him;"  *'we  shall  not  all 
sleep,  but  we  shall  all  be  changed;"  *'when 
Stephen  had  said  this,  he  fell  asleep;"  *'part 
remain,  but  some  are  fallen  asleep."  **  Since 
the  fathers  fell  asleep,  all  things  continue  as 
they  were." 

This  figure  is  a  very  beautiful  one,  and 
not  without  its  comforting  associations.  How 
grateful  to  the  worn  and  tired  worker,  on 
whom  the  heat  and  burthen  of  the  day  have 
fallen  with  exhausting  power,  is  the  coming 
on  of  the  evening,  the  hour  of  rest  and  repose. 
How  welcome  to  the  fainting  traveller  whose 
weary  feet  have  trodden  the  dusty  highway 
from  the  early  light  of  morning,  whose 
strength  is  well  nigh  spent,  whose  trembling 
limbs  refuse  to  bear  him  farther  —  how  wel- 
come to  his  longing  eyes  is  the  sight  of  the 
little  wayside  inn,  where  he  can  rest  from  his 
long  journey,  and  lie  down  and  sleep  —  sleep 
till  the  body  Is  refreshed,  and  its  strength  re- 


100  FALLING   ASLEEP. 

newed  —  and  then,  wlien  the  morning  comes, 
wake  again  to  new  life,  and  activity,  and 
enjoyment. 

To  many  a  weary  toiler  in  the  field  of  the 
World,  to  many  a  fainting  traveller  on  the 
high-road  of  life,  this  figure,  which  makes 
death  a  sleep,  and  the  grave  the  couch  on 
which  we  lie  down  to  rest,  comes  with  a  pecu- 
liar and  not  unpleasant  meaning. 

I  knew  one  whose  life  had  been  shadowed 
with  sorrow,  who  for  years  had  struggled 
with  bitter  memories,  and  domestic  trials,  and 
harsh  treatment,  and  all  the  straitening  ills  of 
poverty,  who  held  to  this  thought  of  death 
and  the  hereafter  with  singular  tenacity  of 
faith  and  feeling.  At  last  her  griefs  were 
too  heavy  for  the  exhausted  mind  and  body 
to  bear.  She  began  rapidly  to  sink  under 
them  —  and  then  her  thoughts  dwelt  perpetu- 
ally on  this  idea  of  death,  and  she  talked  of 
little  else.  Her  only  thought  of  heaven  was 
that  she. should  rest  and  be  at  peace.  *'0 
how  sweet  it  will  be  to  deejay  to  be  at  rest  — 


FALLING  ASLEEP.  101 

no  more  to  suffer,  nor  to  toil ;  no  more  weari- 
ness and  exhaustion  —  to  fall  into  placid,  re^ 
fresKing  slumber,  to  rest  undisturbed,  and 
then  to  wake,  and  still  to  rest ;  to  be  free  from 
care  and  pain,  no  more  anguish  of  mind  or 
heart ;  to  dwell  in  everlasting  peace  and  tran- 
quility !  I  welcome  the  hour  when,  falling 
asleep  in  Jesus,  I  shall  wake  in  that  heavenly- 
home,  **  where  the  wicked  cease  from  troub- 
ling, and  the  weary  are  at  rest." 

So  have  others  felt,  poor  sufferers,  to  whom 
life  has  been  a  scene  of  incessant  toil,  or  of 
mental  anxieties  and  struggles.  Many  a  one 
has  seen  his  cherished  hopes  blasted,  his  affec- 
tions laid  waste,  and  all  the  beauty  and  worth 
of  life  swept  away  from  him  by  a  series  of 
fast  following  calamities  and  griefs;  till  at 
last,  worn  out,  nerveless,  broken  in  spirit,  the 
prospect  of  a  termination  to  these  long  con- 
tinued trials  IS  grateftd  to  the  crushed  heart, 
and  the  sleep  of  death  is  looked  forward  to 
with  almost  longing. 

And  then  there  are  those  who,  all  their  life 


102  FALLING  ASLEEP. 

long,  have  maintained  perpetual  struggle  with 
temptations  and  their  own  weaknesses  and 
passions ;  who  have  striven  for  a  nobler  and 
better  life,  and  have  earnestly  prayed,  and 
wrestled  with  evil,  and  sought  with  all  their 
energies  to  rise  up  into  the  heavenly  life  of 
holiness  and  triumphant  virtue  —  but,  failing 
in  every  effort,  falling  as  often  as  they  have 
risen,  dragged  down  by  the  hounds  of  appe- 
tite, hindered  and  oppressed,  yielding  and 
unresisting,  have  finally,  after  every  unsuc- 
cessful effort,  sunk  down  again  into  the  old 
life  of  weakness  and  sin.  O  what  unspeaka- 
ble relief  to  these  is  the  thought,  that  by  and 
by  the  long  warfare  will  be  ended,  the  last 
battle  fought,  and,  laying  off  the  dusty  armor 
of  conflict,  they  will  lie  down  and  sleep  —  no 
more  temptation  nor  struggle,  no  more  vain 
efforts  and  failures,  no  more  heart-sickness 
and  discouragement  and  despair ;  but  rest 
from  all  this,  rest  in  tranquil  slumber  through 
the  quiet  night  —  and  at  last,  through  the 
help  of  Jesus,  disentangled  from  the  earthly 


FALLING  ASLEEP.  103 

and  corruptible,  and  by  the  grace  of  God  re- 
newed in  tbe  image  of  tbe  heavenly,  to  rise 
when  the  morning  comes,  and  go  forth  in  the 
freedom  and  joy  of  the  spiritual  life ! 

And  you,  poor  toilers,  sinking  with  fatigue, 
worn  in  body,  the  fever  burning  through  your 
veins ;  yet,  remembering  those  at  home  and 
the  wants  that  beset  them,  bending  to  your 
task  while  strength  lasts  —  O  be  patient  and 
cheerful,  be  of  good  heart,  for  the  sun  is  in 
the  west,  the  evening  approaches  when  your 
task  will  be  complete,  and,  casting  aside  the 
implements  of  labor,  you  may  lie  down  and 
sink  into  the  arms  of  profound,  refreshing 
sleep ! 

And  you  who  in  close  garrets  ply  with 
weary  fingers  the  fast  flying  needle,  far  into 
the  night,  while  the  hot  head  throbs  with 
sharp  pains,  and  the  exhausted  body  trembles 
with  weakness  and  overwork,  and  consump- 
tion eats  in  upon  the  secret  stores  of  life ; 
who,  day  by  day,  and  night  by  night,  feel 
that  your  strength  is  growing  less,  and  your 


104:  FALLING  ASLEEP. 

toil  more  difficult,  and  the  anguish  of  bruin 
and  heart  more  dreadful ;  and  who  long  for 
the  sweet  privilege  of  rest  and  sleep,  for  the 
undreaming  and  renewing  slumbers  of  child- 
liood- — be  comforted  in  your  sorrow,  faint  not 
in  your  weariness,  for  only  a  little  longer, 
and  the  busy  fingers,  and  the  throbbing  head 
and  anxious  heart,,  will  be  at  rest.  A  little 
longer,  and  those  heavy  eyelids  shall  close 
over  the  tear-dimmed  eyes,  and  the  weary 
brain  fall  asleep  and  be  at  peace.  A  little 
longer,  and  you  shall  cease  from  your  labors, 
and  tranquilly  fold  your  arms  to  rest  —  and 
nothing  shall  disturb  your  slumbers  till  the 
voice  of  the  angel  calls  to  you,  and  you  wake 
in  the  likeness  of  God,  wake  to  participato 
in  the  everlasting  peace  and  blessedness  of 
Heaven. 

To  you,  therefore,  and  to  all  who  are  walk- 
ing in  weariness,  oppressed  with  the  burthen 
of  their  sorrows,  or  fainting  with  excess  of 
toll,  or  discouraged  by  the  long  fight  with 
temptation ;  this  metaphor,   which   makes   of 


FALLING  ASLEEP.  105 

death  a  sleep,  and  of  the  grave  a  bed  of  rest, 
is  one  full  of  sweet  and  welcome  associations. 
It  brings  thoughts  soothing  and  quieting  to 
the  worn  and  worried  heart,  and  breathes  a 
serene  and  tranquihzing  influence  upon  the 
sad  and  fainting  spirit.  It  is  a  blessed  thing 
to  sleep  when  we  are  so  utterly  prostrated. 
It  is  an  unspeakable  relief  to  fling  the  weary- 
body  down  upon  the  couch  of  rest,  feeling 
that  we  shall  be  left  to  slumber  on  undis- 
turbed, till  all  fatigue  and  exhaustion  have 
left  us ;  till  nature  wakens  us  invigorated, 
restored,  with  new  strength  and  vitality  cours- 
ing through  all  the  veins,  and  streaming  along 
all  the  electric  nerves  of  hfe. 

And  so  the  Holy  Spirit,  which  is  the  Com- 
forter, has  chosen  this  beautiful  figure  where- 
with to  clothe  the  Idea  of  death,  that  It  may 
suggest  cheerful  and  pleasant  thoughts  to  the 
weary  and  tired  children  of  earth ;  that  it  may 
help  them  to  walk  forward  with  a  serene  trust 
to  the  place  of  their  rest,  assured  that  when 
the  morning  comes,  they  will  awake  refreshed, 


106  FALLIXa  ASLEEP. 

quickened  with  new  life  and  energy,  the 
*' children  of  God,  being  children  of  the 
Resurrection ! " 

My  hands  are  weary,  laboring,  toiling  on, 

Day  after  day  for  perishable  meat : 
Oh,  city  of  our  God,  I  fain  would  rest ; 

I  sigh  to  gain  thy  glorious  mercy-seat. 

My  garments,  travel-worn  and  stained  with  dust, 
Oft  rent  by  briers  and  thorns  that  crowd  my  way, 

Would  fain  be  made,  0  Lord  my  righteousness, 
Spotless  and  white  in  heaven's  unclouded  ray. 

My  heart  is  weary  of  its  frequent  sin  — 

Sinning,  repenting,  sinning  still  alway : 
When  shall  my  soul  thy  glorious  presence  feel. 

And  find  its  guilt,  dear  Saviour,  washed  away  ? 

Patience,  poor  soul :  the  Saviour's  feet  were  worn  ; 

The  Saviour's  heart  and  hands  were  weary  too  ; 
His  garments  stained  and  travel-worn  and  old. 

His  sacred  eyes  blinded  with  tears  for  you. 

Love  thou  the  path  of  sorrow  that  he  trod ; 

Toil  on,  and  wait  in  patience  for  thy  rest : 
0  city  of  our  God,  we  soon,  shall  see 

Thy  glorious  walls,  home  of  the  loved  and  blest. 


IV. 

t  gwife  of  %  iotig  %  f  if*  of 
%    Spirit. 


"  There's  no  such  thing  as  death:  '*• 
In  nature  nothing  dies, 
From  each  sad  remnant  of  decay, 
Some  forms  of  life  arise. 

"  There's  no  such  thing  as  death :  "  - 

'Tis  but  the  blossom  spray 

Sinking  before  the  coming  fruit 

That  seeks  the  Summer's  ray ;  — 
'Tis  but  the  bud  displaced 

As  comes  the  perfect  flower ; 
'Tis  faith  exchanged  for  sight. 
And  weariness  for  power. 


NOTHER.   significant    metaphor,    pro- 
phetic   of   the    condition    into    which 
Death  introduces  the  soul,  is  found  in 
the  following  from  1  Corinthians  xv.  36  -  38  ; 


108      THE  DEATH  OF  THE  BODY 

"That  wlilcli  thou  sowest  is  not  quickened 
except  it  die ;  and  that  which  thou  sowest, 
thou  sowest  not  that  body  that  shall  be,  but 
bare  grain,  it  may  chance  of  wheat,  or  some 
other  grain,  but  God  giveth  it  a  body  as  it 
hath  pleased  him,  and  to  every  seed  his  own 
body.'^ 

The  main  idea  of  this  metaphor  is  too 
plainly  stated  by  the  apostle  to  be  mistaken. 
It  is  the  same  which  the  Saviour  uttered 
in  almost  the  same  words  in  John  xii.  24  : 
"Verily,  verily,  I  say  unto  you,  except  a 
corn  of  wheat  fall  into  the  ground  and  die,  it 
abideth  alone ;  but  if  it  die,  it  bringeth  forth 
much  fruit."  And  this  saying  of  his  was  in 
reference  to  his  own  death  and  resurrection,  as 
the  type,  and  the  pledge,  of  the  resurrection 
of  mankind ;  of  the  deliverance  of  the  whole 
race  from  the  bondage  of  corruption  into  the 
glorious  liberty  of  the  incorruptible  and  im- 
mortal. 

The  thought  set  out  by  this  metaphor,  the 
beautiful  truth    which  it  presents,  is  worthy 


THE   LIFE   OF   THE    SPIRIT.  109 

of  special  consideration,  both  for  its  theolog- 
ical importance,  and  for  its  comforting  power 
in  the  most  momentous  hour  of  the  soul's 
earthly  history. 

Planted  in  the  ground  the  sheath  or  body 
of  the  seed  begins  at  once  the  process  of  disso- 
lution, or  begins  to  die ;  and  the  moment  the 
process  of  death  commences  in  the  outward 
body  of  the  seed,  *'it  may  chance  of  wheat  or 
any  other  grain,"  that  same  moment  the  pro- 
cess of  the   new  birth   commences  with  the 
interior  germ.     Nay,  the  death  of  the  outer 
tegument  or  covering  is  absolutely  necessary 
to  this  renewing  process  of  the  soul  of  the 
seed ;  the  life  of  the  one  is  the  product  of  the 
other's  death.     And  the  substance  of  the  de- 
caying body  becomes  the  means  of  develoj)ing 
the  hitherto  dormant  powers  of  the  germ ;  the 
medium  by  which  it  receives  or  appropriates 
to   itself  the   subtle   forces   of  the   soil,    the 
elements  of  its  growth  into  new  and  larger 
life.     If  the  body  did  not  die,  the  germ  could 
not  be  quickened,  as  the  apostle  says.     It  is 


110     THE  DEATH  OF  THE  BODY 

only  when  the  outer  covering  moulders  away, 
that  the  external  influences  are  able  to  reach 
the  latent  rudiments  of  the  new  life  that  is 
to  be. 

And  one  cannot  but  be  struck  with  amaze- 
ment, when  he  carefully  considers  the  matter; 
to  see  what  vast  and  astonishing  powers, 
capacities  and  resources,  lie  folded  up  in  a 
single  grain  of  corn  or  wheat ;  and  which  by 
the  decomposition  of  the  body  are,  as  it  were, 
loosed  from  their  prison,  and  set  free  to  act. 

In  1660  Sir  Kenelm  Digby  saw  a  plant 
of  barley,  proceeding  from  a  single  grain, 
from  which  there  came  two  hundred  and 
forty-nine  stalks,  on  which  he  counted  up- 
wards of  eighteen  thousand  grains  !  But  this 
is  little  compared  with  the  experiments  re- 
corded in  58th  vol.  of  the  Philosophical 
Transactions.  On  the  2d  of  June  he  sowed 
a  few  grains  of  wheat,  one  of  the  plants  from 
which  had  thrown  out  so  many  sprouts,  and 
from  these  so  many  stalks,  that  on  the  18th 
of  August  he  was  enabled  to  divide  it  into 


THE   LIFE    OF   THE    SPIRIT.  11] 

eigiiteen  parts,  which  he  set  out  separately. 
Bj  September  and  October  these  had  so  mul- 
tiplied that  he  had  set  out  sixty- seven  stalks 
for  the  winter.  With  the  first  growth  of  the 
spring  this  multiplication  and  division  went 
on  tiU  at  the  beginning  of  April  the  number 
of  plants  amounted  to  &\e  hundred. 

These  plants  proved  more  vigorous  and 
productive  than  those  under  ordinary  culture, 
so  that  the  number  of  ears  amounted  to 
twenty-one  thousand  one  hundred  and  nine; 
and  they  were  remarkably  fine,  some  contain- 
ing from  sixty  to  seventy  grains  each.  The 
wheat,  when  separated  from  the  straw,  weigh- 
ed forty-seven  pounds  and  seven  ounces,  and 
measured  within  two  quarts  of  a  bushel,  the 
estimated  number  of  grains  being  ^yq  hundred 
and  seventy-six  thousand  eight  hundred  and 
forty ! 

What  wonderful  forces,  what  subtle,  ex- 
pansive energy  and  growth,  were  silently 
sleeping  in  this  small,  dry,  unpromising  look- 
ing little  seed.     And  how  amazing  the  life 


112      THE  DEATH  OF  THE  BODY 

that  came  from  this  single  death.  Who  could 
have  believed,  without  the  actual  sight,  that 
the  small  and  almost  invisible  germ  wrapped 
in  that  one  grain,  could  have  multiplied  and 
enlarged  itself,  and  have  diffiised  its  vitalizing 
power  through  all  these  roots  and  shoots  and 
stalks,  into  more  than  ^ye  hundred  thous- 
and other  grains !  How  just  the  Saviour's 
words — "Except  a  corn  of  wheat  faU  into 
the  ground  and  die,  it  abideth  alone;  but  if 
it  die,  it  bringeth  forth  much  fruit, '*^ 

And  how  curious  and  admirable  the  consti- 
tution of  this  internal  germ,  the  soul  or  spirit 
of  the  seed,  that  it  should  thus,  under  a 
change  of  circumstances  seemingly  so  unfavor- 
able as  being  buried  in  the  earth,  be  able  to 
incorporate  into  itself  the  impalpable,  ethereal 
essence  of  light  and  air  and  moisture ;  that  it 
should  be  able  to  assimilate  them  to  its  own 
nature,  and  so,  according  to  the  laws  of  its 
being,  re-create  itself,  enlarge  and  diffuse  its 
life  almost  indefinitely  ! 

These  are  the  facts  on  which  the  metaphor 


THE   LIFE   OF   THE   SPIEIT.  113 

of  the  apostle  is  founded ;  and  the  great  truth 
taught  by  It  is  tliis  :  As  certainly  as  the  germ 
of  the  wheat  is  quickened  into  life,  and  larger 
life,  by  the  death  of  the  outer  envelope  or 
body,  so  certainly  the  soul  is  lifted  into  life, 
larger  and  more  glorious  life,  by  the  dissolu- 
tion of  the  mortal  tabernacle  in  which  it  dwells 
while  on  earth.  And  the  death  of  the  body 
is  as  necessary  to  tliis  renewal  of  the  spirit, 
as  the  decomposition  of  the  external  integu- 
ment or  shell  of  the  wheat-grain,  is  to  the 
quickening  of  the  germ. 

And  if  this  beautiful  truth  were  received 
into  the  faith  of  the  Christian,  into  the  heart 
and  life,  the  difference  it  would  make  in  our 
living  and  dying,  could  not  be  expressed  in 
words.  It  would  clothe  death  with  a  new 
meaning,  it  would  illuminate  the  realm  of 
shadow  as  with  the  glory  of  the  Lord,  and 
transfigure  aU  our  thoughts  and  hopes  of  the 
future  hfe. 

This  true,  and  Death  gives  a  thousand-fold 
more  than  he  takes  away.  Every  earthly 
8 


114  TIJE    DEATH   OF   THE   BODY 

blessing  left  bcliind  in  going,  is  compensated  . 
for  by  a  wealth  of  gifts  showered  upon  the 
spirit  on  its  arrival  in  the  heavenly  land. 
And  though  there  may  be  pain  and  regTet  in 
parting  with  those  who  have  loved  us  here, 
yet  we  are  doubly  comforted  by  thought  of  the 
glorious  company  of  angels  to  which  we  go, 
and  by  the  blessed  knowledge  that  those  we 
leave  will  by  and  by  come  to  join  us  in  the 
forward  march  from  glory  to  glory ! 

It  is  somethino;  to  be  thankful  for  to  have 
life  on  this  earth,  life  with  all  its  opportunities 
and  gifts,  with  all  its  growths,  and  revelations 
of  knowledge,  and  births  and  buildings  up  of 
character ;  but  O  how  much  more  must  it  be 
in  the  great  hereafter,  when  the  unveiled 
splendors  of  the  Lord's  creation  and  the  glo- 
ries of  his  presence  shall  dawn  upon  the  soul 
eager  to  try  its  newly-gotten  liberty.  Here 
the  spirit  is  restrained  and  cramped  and  liin- 
dered  by  the  encumbering  flesh,  its  infirmities 
and  wants  and  lusts  ;  there  it  will  be  free,  re- 
leased from  all  its  fetters,  delivered  from  its 


THE    LIFE    OF   THE    SPIRIT.  115 

long  bondage  to  the  earthly  nature,  from  all 
conflict  with  weakness  and  temptation  —  free 
to  grow,  and  unfold  all  its  powers  into  new 
and  diviner  life  ;  free  to  rise  higher  and  higher 
in  the  scale  of  excellence ;  free  to  go  upward 
from  strength  to  strength,  from  beauty  to 
beauty,  from  beatitude  to  beatitude,  without 
limit  and  without  hindrance. 

No  man  can  measure  the  life  of  the  soul 
in  the  coming  eternity,  nor  set  a  limit  to 
its  growth  and  expansion.  No  man  can 
prophesy  of  the  celestial  glories  which  will 
dawn  upon  it  from  age  to  age  along  the  track 
of  that  great  future.  But  the  spirit  comes  to 
all  this  only  by  the  pathway  that  leads  tln^ough 
the  dark  valley,  and  *'over  the  river."  Death 
alone  strikes  off  its  fetters,  and  opens  the 
doors  of  its  prison^  house,  and  brings  it  the 
freedom  of  new  birth  and  larger  growth. 
*  *  It  cannot  be  quickened  except  it  die  —  but 
if  it  die,  it  bringeth  forth  much  fruit."  The 
old  body  perishes  in  order  to  give  place  to  the 
new  body  —  * '  there   is   a   natural   body  and 


116      THE  DEATH  OF  THE  BODY 

there  Is  a  spiritual  body ;  liowbeit  tliat  is  not 
first  which  is  spiritual,  but  that  which  is  nat- 
ural, and  afterward  that  which  is  spiritual." 
The  first  stasre  of  the   soul's  existence  is  in 

o 

the  natural  body,  clothed  upon  with  flesh ; 
the  second  is  in  the  spiritual  body,  clothed 
upon  with  the  heavenly.  The  first  is  the 
infant  state,  the  babyhood  of  our  spiritual 
existence  —  is  it  desirable  that  it  should  never 
come  to  an  end?  especially  when  w^e  remem- 
ber what  that  little  grain  of  wheat  grew  up  to 
as  soon  as  the  fitting  conditions  were  present  ? 
The  babe  may  be  very  interesting  and  win- 
ning, but  who  would  wish  always  to  remain  a 
babe  ?  Why  then  wish  the  soul  to  continue 
always  in  its  infancy,  confined  in  this  natural 
body,  hungering,  thirsting,  weary,  cramped 
in  growth  and  activity?  Is  it  not  better 
that  the  natural  body  should  give  place  to 
the  spiritual  body,  that  the  outer  invest- 
ment of  clay  should  die ;  that  the  inward 
germ  of  the  spirit,  like  that  of  the  wheat 
grain,    may    spring   up   into   more   abundant 


THE    LIFE    OF   THE    SPIRIT.  117 

fruitfulness,  under  the  genial  influences  of  the 
heavenly  latitudes  ? 

The  Death  of  the  Body  Is  really  the  Life  of 
the  Soul.  It  Is  the  Spirit's  second  birth ;  and, 
through  the  Resurrection,  Its  growth  from  in- 
fancy to  manhood ;  the  unfolding  and  ampli- 
fication of  all  its  latent  powers,  of  all  the 
hidden  forces  of  Its  nature.  The  death  of  the 
natural  body  has  released  these  from  their 
fleshly  Imprisonment.  And  as  the  grain  of 
corn.  In  contact  with  the  fresh  soil,  swells, 
and  bursts,  and  shoots  up  through  the  crumb- 
ling mould,  first  the  blade,  then  the  ear, 
after  that  the  full  corn  in  the  ear ;  so  the 
spirit,  quickened  by  the  warm  and  sunny 
breath  of  the  celestial  atmosphere,  developes 
into  new  and  vigorous  growth,  ripens  Into  a 
wealth  of  fruitage,  which  it  never  could  have 
attained  to  on  earth. 

Why,  then,  should  we  cling  with  such  te- 
nacity to  the  mortal  body,  the  earthly  life,  the 
infant  condition  of  the  spirit?  Why  should 
we  stand   shivering  at  the  thought  of  death, 


118      THE  DEATH  OF  THE  BODY 

wlien,  if  Christians,  we  belieVe  it  opens  out 
into  this  richer,  grander  life  of  freedom  and 
immoi'tality  ?  this  heavenly  growth  without 
impediment,  or  check,  or  limit? 

When,  therefore,  the  hour  comes  in  which 
we  must  part  from  those  who  are  dear  to  us, 
and  pass  on  over  the  river  which  divides  this 
from  the  Land  of  Promise  :  w^e  may  sorrow 
for  the  separation  —  it  is  human,  it  is  natural, 
to  weep  in  that  hour  —  but  let  us  be  com- 
forted in  our  grief  for  the  death  of  the  body, 
by  our  faith  in  the  larger,  nobler,  the  infi- 
nitely more  glorious  and  blessed  life  of  the 
spirit  in  the  great  Hereafter  ! 

Our  life  is  onward,  and  our  verj-  dust 

Is  longing  for  its  change,  that  it  may  take 

New  combinations  ;  that  the  seed  may  break 

From  its  dark  thraldom,  where  it  lies  in  trust 

Of  its  great  resurrection. 

And  germs  of  beautiful  vast  thought,  concealed 

Lie  deep  within  the  sovil,  which  evermore 

Onward  and  upward  strive.    The  last  in  place 

Enfolds  the  higher  yet  to  be  revealed , 

And  each  the  sepulchre  of  that  which  went  before. 


V. 


^rjjparatbiT  f0r  it» 


Faith  is  the  rainbow's  form, 

Hung  on  the  hrow  of  heaven, 

The  glory  of  the  passing  storm, 

The  pledge  of  mercy  given. 

It  is  the  bright  triumphal  arch, 

Through  which  the  saints  to  glory  march. 

©iVj^AYIXG  tlms  far  spoken  of  some  of 
p^Mj  the  peculiarly  pleasing  and  suggestive 
*^  figures  under  which  the  Scriptures  rep- 
resent Death,  and  its  relations  to  the  body  and 
the  spirit :  it  seems  fitting,  though  allusion 
has  been  made  to  it  in  counselling  the  sick, 
that  something  more  should  be  said  of  the 
spiritual  preparation  needful  for  tliis  great 
event ;  of  that  faith,  and  religious  experience, 


120          THE    PASSAGE    OF   THE   EIVEK, 

and 'Christian  culture,  wliicli  can  alone  render 
the  passage  of  the  river  easy  to  us. 

In  order  to  realize  in  our  own  souls  the 
(divine  power  of  the  truths  conveyed  by  these 
metaphors,  and  possess  the  courage  and  peace 
wliich  they  are  designed  to  inspire  in  the  hour 
of  death,  we  must  make  a  personal  appli- 
cation of  them,  we  must  appropriate  them 
as  our  own  by  faith,  and  a  healthy  religious 
experience. 

It  is  not  morality  alone,  not  a  good  and 
just  life  merely,  which  makes  the  passage 
over  the  river  easy,  which  takes  the  sting  from 
death ;  but  faith,  faith  in  the  facts  symbolized 
by  these  scriptural  metaphors,  faith  in  God, 
faith  in  Christ  as  the  Saviour  who  came  to 
**  deliver  them  who  through  fear  of  death  were 
all  their  lifetime  subject  to  bondage."  In  tljc 
hour  of  our  departure  there  is  no  substitute 
for  faith,  there  is  nothing  which  can  give  us 
comfort  and  support  but  religion.  In  that 
hour  it  is  not  genius,  nor  talent,  nor  science, 
nor  philosophy,  but  the  Gospel  only  that  is 


AND   THE   PREPARATION   FOR   IT.       121 

of  any  avail  —  tlie  living  words  of  Jesus  who 
died  and  rose  again,  leading  captivity  captive, 
and  giving  unto  men,  as  lie  ascended  on  liigh, 
tlie  gifts  of  hope  and  faith  and  victory  over 
.Death. 

As  already  remarked,  we  must  make  some 
effort  in  this  direction.  By  a  diligent  and 
prayerful  study  of  the  Divine  "\Yord,  we 
shoidd  seek  to  build  our  faith  on  a  sure  foun- 
dation ;  knowing  ivhat  we  believe,  and  why  we 
believe,  and  therefore  confident  that  we  stand 
upon  the  Rock  of  ages.  Thus  diligent  and 
earnest  we  shall,  with  the  blessing  of  the  Holy 
Spirit,  attain  to  that  knowledge  of  God  and 
the  Saviour  which  is  life  eternal  in  the  soul 
of  the  believer.  AYe  shall  realize  that  we  are 
always  in  the  hands  of  a  kind  Father,  whether 
living  or  dying,  in  time  or  eternity.  And 
satisfied  of  this,  whenever  our  time  shall  come 
we  shall  be  ready  with  the  aged  and  pious 
Simeon  to  say,  * '  Now  Lord,  lettest  thou  thy 
servant  depart  in  peace,  for  mine  eyes  have 
seen  thy  salvation." 


122         THE   PASSAGE   OF   THE   EIVEE, 

Blessed  are  they  who  have  made  this  prep- 
aration of  personal  experimental  religion  ;  who 
have  made  God  their  refuge ;  for  he  is  a  very 
present  help  in  time  of  trouble.  Blessed  are 
they  who  have  sought,  or  are  ready  to  seek, 
Christ  as  the  Comforter,  who  is  always  ready 
to  receive  and  bless  those  who  seek  him,  even 
those  coming  at  the  eleventh  hour.  Sweet  are 
the  words  of  his  invitation  :  * '  Come  unto  me 
all  ye  who  labor  and  are  heavy  laden,  and  I 
will  give  you  rest.  Take  my  yoke  upon  you, 
and  learn  of  me ;  for  my  yoke  is  easy,  and 
my  burden  is  light,  and  ye  shall  find  rest  unto 
your  souls." 

Blessed  are  they,  thrice  blessed,  who,  op- 
pressed with  sickness  and  suffering,  and  nigh 
unto  the  banks  of  the  river  of  death,  see 
Jesus  as  *'the  Way,  the  Life,  and  the 
Truth!"  who  rest  iu  .  and  rejoice  in,  that 
divine  faith  wliich  sees  God  as  the  wise  and 
merciful  Euler,  the  kind  and  tender  Parent ; 
which  looks  on  life  as  a  school  for  the  trial 
and  development  of  our  moral  and  spiritual 


AND    THE    PREPARATION   FOR   IT.        123 

powers  ;  wliicli  looks  beyond  tlie  present  into 
tlie  future,  and  sees  holiness  and  felicity  and 
heaven  as  the  final  portion  of  the  soul.  This 
faith,  accepted  by  the  intellect  and  welcomed 
by  the  affections,  gives  to  the  departing  soul 
a  courage,  a  serenity,  an  absolute  joy,  the 
OTcatness  of  which  to  be  understood  must  be 

o 

experienced. 

It  has  about  it  an  actuality  which  only  the 
dying  one  can  know.  It  so  takes  hold  on  the 
realities  of  the  spirit-world,  its  vision  becomes 
so  clear  that  the  white-robed  angels  seem  to 
sweep  through  the  heavenly  courts  in  visible 
procession ;  and  the  ear  drinks  in  the  sweet 
strains  that  float  from  the  harps  of  the  blessed, 
or  breathe  from  the  lips  of  adoring  seraphim. 

One  example  out  of  many  will  serve  to 
illustrate  the  power  and  blessedness  of  this 
faith,  and  the  wonderful  manner  in  which  it 
imparts  strength  to  the  spiritual  vision,  and 
becomes  the  evidence,  or  demonstration  to  the 
soul,    of  the   actual   existence    of  thino:s  not 

'  CD 

seen  by  the  mortal  eye.     I  refer  to  the  death- 


124  THE    PASSAGE    OF   THE    RIVEE, 

scene  of  one  wlio  died   as   only  the  Christian 
can  die. 

She  had  embraced  the  gospel  in  the  fulness 
of  its  salvation  and  its  blessing,  embraced  it 
in  her  heart  as  well  as  mind.  She  lived  by 
it,  and  in  obedience  to  its  precepts,  and  in  the 
power  of  its  faith.  She  honored  it  with  a 
devotion  —  she  loved  it  with  an  affection, 
which  grew  more  and  more  ardent  and  absorb- 
ing up  to  the  hour  of  her  departure  from  earth 
to  heaven.  The  fruit  of  this  was  a  life  of  the 
highest  happiness,  and  a  death  triumphant  as 
the  farewell  of  the  saints  of  old. 

Her  sickness  was  short ;  and  yet  when 
assured  that  it  must  prove  fatal,  she  exhibited 
perfect  resignation  to  the  will  of  God,  and 
expressed  a  desire  **to  depart  and  be  with 
Christ."  Like  Stephen  of  old,  ''  full  of  faith 
and  of  the  Holy  Ghost,"  she  looked  beyond 
the  waters,  and  ''saw  the  heavens  opened." 
Friends  who  could  not  sympathize  in  the 
fulness  of  her  faith,  but  who  loved  her  as  a 
sister,  stood  near,  anxiously  watching  to   see 


AND   THE   PEEPAilATION  FOR   IX.        125 

her  cross  to  the  other  side.  Her  husband, 
himself  sceptical,  laid  his  hand  upon  her  fore- 
head, and  deeply  impressed  with  the  solemni- 
ties of  that  trying  moment,  addressed  her, 
saying,  **  Dearest,  do  you  believe  that  we 
shall  meet  again  ?  —  meet  in  heaven  ?  "  The 
spirit  of  faith,  struggling  for  manifestation 
with  an  intensity  which  words  could  not  utter, 
revealed  itself  in  her  countenance.  "And 
all  "  that  stood  by,  ' '  looking  steadfastly  upon 
her,  saw  her  face  as  it  had  been  the  face  of  an 
angel."  '* Believe  !"  said  she,  as  she  ''looked 
up  steadfastly  unto  heaven,"  '*  believe  I  Ilcnow 
we  shall  meet  again.     I  see  it  now!  " 

And  in  this  there  was  no  excitement,  no 
unnatural  exaltation  or  rapture  of  the  spirit. 
The  summer  evening  is  not  calmer  than  was 
this  dying  saint ;  no  hero  of  the  highest  sort 
was  ever  more  perfectly  self-possessed.  It  Is 
easy  to  see,  therefore,  how  such  a  faith  real- 
izes to  itself  the  promises  of  God,  and  the 
revelations  of  the  gospel.  It  seems  to  reach 
out  and  actually   to   lay  hold  on  the  coming 


12;j  THE    PASSAGE    OF    THE    RIVEE, 

joy,  and  to  see,  as  with  anointed  eyes,  the 
glorious  mansions  of  the  blessed,  the  house 
not  made  with  hands,  eternal  in  the  heavens. 

This  humble  and  unknown  woman  saw 
what  tlie  wisest  men  on  earth  cannot  see  with- 
out faith.  She  was  braver  than  the  bravest, 
and  richer  than  the  richest,  can  ever  be,  with- 
out the  wealth  and  the  blessing  of  this  faith, 
which  smiles  in  the  face  of  death ;  and  while 
it  puts  one  hand  into  his,  puts  the  other  into 
God's,  and  passes  joyfully  "over  the  river." 

Plato,  with  his  profound  philosophy,  and 
soaring  speculations,  and  marvellous  knowl- 
edo'c,  cannot  die  as  this  Christian  woman  dies. 
She  is  profounder  than  he,  and  has  a  heav- 
enly wisdom  greater  than  anything  written  in 
the  Divine  Dialogues.  But  the  death-scene 
of  Socrates  ?  It  does  not  compare  with  this. 
He  hoped  and  suhmitfed — she  believed  and  tri- 
umphed! He  went  forth  into  the  dark,  doubt- 
ful whither  he  went ;  she  went  forth  confident, 
rejoicing,  with  the  morning  light  of  the  resur- 
rection breaking  in  upon  lier  soul ! 


AKT>  THE   PREPARATION  FOR  IT.       127 

Look  at  La  Place  with  his  far-reaching 
science,  disentangling  the  seemingly  confused 
web  of  the  spheres,  thinking  almost  that  he 
had  his  finger  on  the  pulse  of  the  universe ; 
excluding  God,  by  his  material  philosophy, 
from  his  own  creation ;  wonderful  as  he  is, 
vasit  as  is  the  reach  of  his  genius,  he  cannot 
die  as  this  woman  dies.  All  he  knows  he 
would  give  gladly,  in  the  hour  of  death,  for 
that  simple,  sublime,  victorious  faith,  which 
sweeps  majestic  far  above  the  stars,  whose 
courses  he  so  long  and  so  painfally  studied. 

Can  anything  more  be  needed,  then,  than 
these  sharp  contrasts  to  show  the  infinite 
superiority  of  simple  Christian  faith  over 
philosophy  and  science?  over  mere  intellect, 
without  the  sanctification  of  faith  and  love  ? 

Was  not  this  humble  disciple  of  Jesus,  her 
heart  full  of  the  overflowing  blessedness  of  the 
gospel,  her  eye  kindling  with  the  radiance  of 
heaven,  her  soul  lifting  up  its  everlasting  song 
of  victory  over  death ;  just  touching  the  grave 
as  she  went  by,  and  then  on  white  waving 


128         THE   PASSAGE   OF   THE   EIVER. 

wing  passing  swiftly  into  the  heavens  to  take 
her  place  among  the  angels  —  was  she  not 
greater  than  all  these  of  whom  we  have 
spoken?  And  is  there  a  more  glorious  tri- 
umph in  all  the  earth  than  this  ? 

If  not,  then,  let  us  with  all  diligence  strive 
for  this  living  earnest  faith,  which  looks 
through  all  the  mists  that  float  above  the 
river  of  death,  and,  even  while  we  are  cros- 
sing, hears  from  afar  the  hallelujahs  of  the 
**  seraphs  that  adore  and  burn." 

Yes,  often  in  the  hours  of  holy  thought, 

To  the  thirsting  soul  is  given 
That  power  to  pierce  through  the  mist  of  sense, 

To  the  beauteous  scenes  of  heaven. 
Then  very  near  seem  its  pearly  gates, 

And  sweetly  its  harpings  fall ; 
Till  the  soul  is  restless  to  soar  away, 

And  longs  for  the  angel's  call. 

I  know  when  the  silver  cord  is  loosed. 

When  the  veil  is  rent  away, 
Not  long  and  dark  will  the  passage  be 

To  the  realms  of  endless  day. 
The  eye  that  shuts  in  the  dying  hour 

Will  open  the  next  in  bliss  ; 
The  welcome  will  sound  in  the  heavenly  world, 

Ere  the  farewell  is  hushed  in  this. 


YT. 

m^t  moxlts  hmna  t^«  gibr.  or  lljt 
#l0rg  0f  tijc  €dt$imL 


Since  o'er  thy  footstool  here  below 

Such  radiant  gems  are  strewn, 
O  -what  magnificence  must  glow, 

Great  God,  around  thy  throne  ! 
So  brilliant  here  these  drops  of  light  — 
There  the  full  ocean  rolls  —  how  bright '. 

HE  class  of  figures  descriptive  of  death 
and  the  future  life,  which  we  have  thus 
fiir  brought  to  view,  do  not  express  all 
the  phases  of  human  desire  and  expectation. 
There  is  another  element  wliich  often  enters 
very  largely  into  the  thought  of  some ;  and  to 
these  activity,  and  not  rest,  activity,  perpetual 
growth  and  progress  to  something  higher  and 
better,  constitute  the  most  attractive  and  de- 
9 


130       THE  V/Or.LD  BEYOND  THE  RIVEE, 

llglitful  pictures  of  the  spirit's  life  hereafter. 
And  there  are  times,  perhaps,  when  we  are 
all  open  to  the  influence  of  thig  thought,  and 
feel  a  longing  to  enter  upon  the  career  of 
knowledge  and  glorj^  to  which  the  vast  and 
various  creation  of  God  invites  us,  and  from 
which  we  are  held  back  by  these  fetters  of 
flesh  and  clay. 

And,  when  we  attempt  to  survey  the  meas- 
ureless fields  of  the  material  universe,  when 
we  think  of  what  this  earth  contains,  and  con- 
sider how  small  it  is  compared  even  with  some 
of  the  other  planets  of  our  solar  system ;  and 
when,  going  out  of  this  system,  we  think  of 
the  suns  and  constellations  which  crowd  the 
abysses  of  space,  and  reflect  the  splendors 
of  divine  wisdom  and  power  —  we  cannot  fail 
to  realize,  in  some  degree,  the  mighty  influ- 
ences operating  on  the  soul  to  incite  it  to 
activity,  and  the  multitudinous  and  glorious 
objects  calling  it  on  from  wonder  to  wonder, 
fi-om  knowledge  to  knowledge. 

And  in  view  of  this  grand  display  of  God's 


OR  THE  GLOEY  OF  THE  CELESTL\L.  131 

creative  power,  it  is  impossible  to  feel  tliat  the 
future  life  is  to  introduce  us  to  no  nearer 
acquaintance  with  these  far-off  splendors.  It 
is  difficult  to  believe  that  when,  liberated  from 
the  body,  we  are,  for  the  first  time,  in  a  con- 
dition to  visit  and  explore  the  distant  constel- 
lations ;  and  when  the  desire  to  behold  and 
study  the  marvels  and  treasures  of  knowledge 
they  contain  grows  upon  us,  and  fills  the 
soul  with  longings  —  that  then  we  shall  be 
compelled  to  forego  this  divine  joy,  to 
settle  down  into  eternal  quiet  and  inactivity 
in  some  corner  of  the  universe,  and  call  it 
heaven ! 

No,  there  is  something  better  for  us  than 
this  in  the  realization  of  the  Christian  idea  of 
immortality.  The  starry  skies  which  enfold 
us  on  all  sides,  are  illuminated  scrolls  written 
all  over  by  the  hand  of  God  with  a  kind 
of  prophecy  of  the  ever  Increasing  acquisi- 
tions, the  ever  new  discoveries,  the  intellec- 
tual growth  and  spiritual  delight,  which  wait 
to  welcome  us  when,  escaped  from  these  taber- 


132      THE  WORLD  BEYOND   THE   RIVER, 

nacles  of  clay,  we  soar  upward  in  tlie  joyful 
freedom  of  tlie  spirit. 

And  what  thoughts  crowd  upon  us  when, 
from  this  stand-point  we  seek  to  map  out  to 
ourselves  the  vast  regions  of  the  soul's  future 
life  and  enterprise  ;  and  to  catalogue  some  of 
the  numberless  particulars  which  will  engage 
its  attention,  and  reward  its  inquiries.  I  look 
around  upon  this  earth  which  makes  the 
primary  school  of  our  life,  where  we  learn 
our  first  lessons  in  the  wonders  of  creation, 
and  get  our  first  experiences  of  intelligent 
beings  —  or,  in  a  word,  where  we  first  come 
in  contact  with  the  mysteries  of  matter  and 
of  mind — 

I  look  abroad  upon  the  earth,  and  try  to 
form  some  idea  of  it,  to  shape  out  some  dis- 
tinct impression  of  what  it  is,  and  what  it 
holds.  I  see  it  is  not  one  thing  only,  but 
many  things.  It  is  Europe,  and  Asia,  and 
Africa,  and  America;  France  and  England 
and  Russia  and  the  United  States,  and  the 
islands  of  the  sea ;  it  is  the  Atlantic  and  the 


OR  THE  GLOKY  OF  THE  CELESTIAL.  133 

Pacific,  and  lakes  and  rivers,  and  little  brooks  ; 
it  is  hill  and  valley,  the  Andes  and  the  prai- 
ries, and  sand  deserts,  and  dense  forests, 
orchards  and  gardens  and  fields ;  it  is  mines 
of  gold  and  silver,  iron  and  lead  and  coal,  and 
wells  of  oil ;  it  is  cities,  and  villages,  and 
farm-houses  everywhere  ;  it  is  wild  beasts  and 
tame,  and  birds,  and  fishes,  of  every  sort ;  it 
is  a  thousand  millions  of  men  and  vfomen  and 
children,  black  and  red  and  wliite,  in  their 
huts  and  palaces  and  homes ;  it  is  art  and 
science,  poetry,  and  music,  and  painting,  and 
sculpture,  philosophy  and  rehgion ;  it  is  being 
born,  and  living,  and  rejoicing,  and  sorrow- 
ing, and  dying.  This  earth  means  all  these 
things,  and  many  thousands  more.  And  what 
room  for  exploration  and  knowledge,  what 
materials  for  study,  what  means  for  acquisi- 
tion and  groA\i:h.  What  endless  variety  of 
scene  and  subject  for  the  active  mind ;  and . 
what  infinite  reward  and  blessing  await  tlie 
diligent  and  successful  discoverer  ! 

And  when  I  have  glanced  thus   over  the 


134         THE  WORLD  BE"i!OND  THE  RIVER^ 

earth,  which  is  all  that  is  allotted  us  for  t^ais 
present  life  in  the  body —  when  I  think,  small 
as  it  is,  how  vast  and  innumerable  its  sources 
of  instruction  and  enjoyment,  how  various  and 
variable  its  objects  of  interest  and  delight  — 
then  I  look  up  into  the  infinite  depths,  and 
gaze  in  silent  wonder  at  the  troops  of  worlds 
as  they  go  by  in  glittering  columns.  I  take 
up  the  telescope,  and  lo !  whole  hosts,  unseen 
before,  come  marching  into  sight  from  the 
far-off  spaces  beyond  the  reach  of  the  naked 
eye  ;  great  suns,  as  it  were  captains,  with 
companies  of  stains  following  them,  and  shin- 
ing constellations  sweeping  into  the  azure 
fields,  till  all  the  skies,  as  far  as  eye  or  instru- 
ment can  reach,  are  filled  with  the  gorgeous 
array ! 

Then  I  say  to  myself.  What  are  these 
thronging  hosts  ?  For  what  are  they  ?  Why 
arc  they  placed  within  reach  of  our  vision, 
with  all  their  bewildering  beauty,  if  they  are 
not  for  us  ?  if  we  are  never  to  visit  them  ? 
But  we  never  can  visit  them  in  tliis  earthly 


OR  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CELESTIAL.  135 

body.  TJien  I  am  sure,  for  that  very  reason, 
that  we  shall  visit  them  out  of  the  body  !  This 
is  to  be  the  work  and  the  joy  of  the  soul. 
Here  is  the  sphere  of  its  activity,  the  school  oi 
its  future  education,  the  temple  of  its  wor- 
ship ;  its  heaven,  in  part,  assuredly,  in  the 
coming  eternity ! 

And  what  a  sphere,  what  a  broad  and  glo- 
rious theatre  for  action  —  these  constellations 
and  suns  and  moons,  planets  and  earths,  com- 
pared with  some  of  which  our  little  world  is 
only  as  a  boy's  football  or  marble.  And  then 
all  these  worlds  that  we  can  see  to  the  utmost 
boundaries  of  telescopic  vision,  are  only  the 
lamps  lighting  the  entrance  to  the  great  tem- 
ple of  the  Lord  God,  wliich  still  lies  beyond, 
out  of  sight,  infinite  in  extent,  incomparable 
in  its  splendors. 

And  what  was  our  brief  definition  of  this 
earth,  so  various  with  its  continents  and  seas, 
its  exhibitions  of  nature  and  art,  its  wonders 
of  life  and  intelll licence !  Consider  then  the 
treasures  of  knowledge  and  joy  in  these  mil- 


136       THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  RirER. 

lions  of  worlds  wiiicli  will  call  to  us,  and 
beckon  us  on,  through  all  eternity  !  What 
ever  shifting  exhibitions  of  natural  scenery  — - 
what  new  fields  for  science,  for  study  and  con- 
templation —  what  new  forms  of  being,  and 
new  orders  of  intelligences,  and  ever-rising 
ranks  of  spiritual  life  !  O  what  a  glorious 
future  this  is  to  go  to  !  What  an  exultant 
life  for  the  soul,  when  Death  strikes  off  the 
fetters  of  the  flesh,  and  sets  it  free ;  when 
dust  returns  to  dust  whence  it  came,  and  the 
spirit  returns  to  God  who  gave  it  I  What  if 
the  path  to  this  do  lead  down  for  a  little  into 
the  dark,  cannot  we  tread  it  firmly  and  fear- 
lessly, when  we  know  that  it  leads  up  finally 
into  the  eternal  splendors  ? 

The  soul  of  man  \7as  made  to  walk  the  skies ; 
Delightful  outlet  of  hev  prison  here  ! 
And,  disencumbered  from  her  chains,  the  ties 
Of  toys  terrestrial,  there  she  roves  at  large  : 
In  full  proportion  lets  loose  all  her  powers  ; 
And  wonderful  herseL',  through  wonder  strays  ; 
Grows  conscious  of  her  birth  celestial ;  breathe* 
More  life,  more  vigor,  in  her  native  aiv, 
ind  feels  herself  at  home  aflaong  the  stars  J 


YII. 


0  Father !  all  sufficient !  over  ail ! 
Enrich  me  v/ith  the  knowledge  of  thy  worka  — 
Lift  me  to  heaven  ;  thy  rolling  wonders  there, 
World  beyond  world,  in  infinite  extent, 
Profusely  scattered  o'er  the  blue  immense, 
Show  me  ;  their  motions,  periods  and  their  laws. 

HE  Scriptures  do  not  enter  into  details 
in  regard  to  the  future  life ;  but  deal 
mostly  in  the  broad  declaration  that 
we  shall  be  as  angels  in  the  resurrection 
world,  immortal,  holy  and  happy.  Still,  there 
are  some  allusions  and  indirect  references  to 
the  employments  of  the  heavenly  state,  and 
some  inferences  legitimately  deducible  from 
existing  facts  and  arrangements  in  the  provi- 


lo8  EMPLOYMENTS   OF 

dence  of  God,  confirmatoiy  of  the  preceding 
argument ;  and  which  seem  to  unfold  to  us 
the  divine  plan  of  blessedness  in  the  future 
life,  or  at  least  to  indicate  something  of  its  va- 
rious activity.  Occasionally  we  have  gliitipses 
of  light  w^iicli  open  upon  a  diversified  disposi- 
tion of  affairs  in  the  spirit  world,  and  an  end- 
less variety  of  blissful  employments,  adapted 
to  the  different  capacities,  or  degrees  of  de- 
velopement  of  human  souls. 

And  this  very  difference  in  capacity  or  spir- 
itual power,  as  well  as  in  the  degree  of  ad- 
vancement, seems  to  require  a  corresponding 
variety  of  action,  and  diversity  in  the  kinds  of 
happiness.  Unless  all  remain  at  the  same 
point  of  spiritual  growth  at  which  they  enter 
on  the  future  life ;  unless  all  souls  are,  as  it 
were,  run  in  the  same  mould,  and  endowed 
with  exactly  the  same  measure  of  strength,  the 
same  emotions,  and  desires,  and  thoughts  — 
there  must  be  a  great  variety  both  in  the 
kinds  of  happiness  and  in  the  degrees.  And 
why  not  ?     Is  heaven  less  fertile  in  resources 


THE   FUTUllE    LIFE.  139 

for  tlie  employment  and  enjoyment  of  its  in- 
habitants, than  earth? 

How  various  the  sources  of  enjoyment  and 
of  pleasurable  activity  in  the  present.  How 
manifold  and  dissimilar  the  methods  adopted 
in  securing  happiness.  And  is  it  not  proba- 
ble—  nay,  certain  that  the  future  life  will 
furnish  as  much  room  for  action  and  develope- 
ment  of  character ;  furnish  as  various  employ- 
ment for  the  intellect,  as  numerous  sources  of 
gratification,  as  the  present  life?  It  is  not 
easy,  as  before  remarked,  for  the  thoughtful 
Christian  to  believe  that  our  only  employ- 
ment, the  only  source  of  happiness  for  the 
soul  hereafter,  will  be  in  singing  songs  of 
praise,  or  in  formal  ascriptions  of  glory  and 
honor  to  God  and  the  Lamb.  It  is  not  ac- 
cordant with  the  arrangements  of  divine  prov- 
idence and  government  so  far  as  we  have  any 
knowledge  of  them.  It  is  not  in  harmony 
with  the  intellectual  nature  of  man,  which  re- 
quires, as  indispensable  to  its  highest  enjoy- 
ment, activity,  continued  movement  and  ad- 


140  EMPLOYMENTS   OF 

vancement,  ceaseless  additions  to  its  materials 
for  thought  and  study,  and  a  constant  enlarge- 
ment of  its  sphere  of  operations. 

The  soul  will  be  glad  and  grateful  for  the 
past ;  but  it  will  require  that  the  present  and 
the  future  shall  not  compel  it  to  idleness,  to 
the  mere  passive  enjoyment  of  dreaming  of 
the  past.  It  will  ask  for  the  new  blessedness 
of  ever  fresh  exhibitions  of  the  poAver  and 
wisdom  and  beneficence  of  the  Infinite ;  for 
continued  discoveries,  and  the  joy  of  ever- 
increasing  knowledge  and  spiritual  power. 
And  if  this  be  not  provided  for  in  some  way, 
it  would  seem  as  if  the  mere  change  of  worlds 
cannot  make  heaven  for  it.  There  must  be 
an  adaptation  of  condition  and  circumstances 
to  the  nature  of  the  soul,  to  the  elements  of 
its  life,  to  realize  the  true  idea  of  heaven. 

It  were  well  to  form  our  opinions  on  this 
point  from  those  passages  which  repeat  to  us 
the  songs  and  ascriptions  of  praise  to  God, 
from  angels  and  cherubim,  and  those  exalted 
spirits  that   bow  before   the   throne,   saying, ' 


THE   FUTURE    LIFE.  141 

'^Holj,  holy  Lord  God  Almighty  —  Glory  be 
to  thee  in  the  highest,  and  honor  and  power  ; 
for  thou  hast  made  all  thins^s  —  2Teat  and 
marvellous  are  thy  works ;  just  and  true  are 
thy  ways.  The  heavens  shall  declare  thy 
wonders  ;  all  thy  works  shall  praise  thee,  and 
thy  saints  shall  hless  thee  !"  These  hymns  of 
praise  show  their  source  in  a  knowledge  of  the 
glorious  works  of  God,  in  admiration  of  the 
stupendous  exhibitions  of  divine  power,  wis- 
dom and  goodness  in  the  illimitable  fields  of 
creation. 

^^^e  may  imagine,  and  not  without  great 
probability,  that  these  blessed,  angelic  beings, 
after  extended  excursions  to  some  distant 
province  or  portion  of  the  boundless  empire 
of  the  Almighty — after  having  surveyed  some 
remote  system  of  worlds,  and  made  themselves 
familiar  with  their  various  aspects  ;  the  details 
of  their  physical  history ;  the  changes  of  sur- 
face ;  the  stages  of  geological  developement ; 
the  distribution  of  animal  and  vegetable  life ; 
the  character,  development,   organism,  moral 


142  E3IPLOY3IEXTS    OF 

relations  and  mental  endowments  of  tlie  intel- 
ligent inhabitants  of  each  —  after  beholding 
these  multiplied  exhibitions  of  the  divine  en- 
ergy, skill  and  benevolence, — we  may  well 
imagine  them  returning  from  this  delightful 
and  instructive  excursion,  and  gathering  about 
the  throne  of  the  Ancient  of  Days,  with  these" 
ascriptions  of  glory  and  honor,  as  the  utter- 
ance of  joy,  of  adoration  and  gratitude  for 
what  they  have  seen  and  learned  on  this,  to 
them,  new  theatre  of  the  divine  operations. 

And  in  view  of  some  such  event  as  this, 
how  much  more  force  and  meaning  are  given 
to  the  Revelator's  language,  when  he  says  that, 
overwhelmed,  as  it  were,  with  the  sense  of 
God's  infinite  power  and  wisdom,  and  with 
the  extent  and  splendor  of  his  creation,  they 
fell  down  and  ' '  worshipped  Him  that  liveth 
forever  and  ever ;  and  cast  their  crowns  before 
the  throne,  saying,  Thou  art  worthy,  O  Lord  I 
to  receive  glory  and  honor  and  power :  for 
thou  hast  created  all  things,  and  for  thy  pleas- 
ui'e  they  are  and  were  created." 


THE   FUTURE   LIFE.  143 

And  tlien  consider  for  a  moment  the  extent 
of  the  field  open  to  the  glorified  spirit.  No 
language  is  adequate  to  the  grandeur  of  the 
theme.  The  number  of  systems  within  reach 
of  our  telescopes  is  reckoned  at  nearly  eighty 
millions.  Sir  William  Herschell  informs  us 
that,  in  surveying  a  portion  only  of  the  milky 
way,  one  of  the  nebulas  visible  from  our 
planet,  there  passed,  in  the  space  of  seven 
minutes,  fifty  thousand  stars  across  the  field 
of  his  telescope  !  Suppose  each  one  of  these 
suns  to  have  in  revolution  about  it  some  thirty 
planetary  bodies,  primary  and  secondary,  and 
we  have  in  one  portion  of  the  universe  within 
range  of  our  instruments  a  congregation  of, 
2,400,000,000  of  worlds  !  And  then,  let  us 
add  to  this  the  fact  that  the  nearest  of  these 
suns  is,  at  least,  twenty  billions  of  miles  dis- 
tant from  us  —  and  if  we  have  no  very  definite 
conception  of  these  vast  numbers  and  spaces, 
as  we  probably  have  not ;  we  are  certainly 
very  powerfully  impressed  with  the  immensity 
of  the  creation,  and  of  the  field  of  investiga- 


144  EMPLOYMENTS   OF 

tion  opened  to  tlie  soul  hereafter.  And  con- 
sider that  all  this  is  but  the  threshold  of  the 
temj)le  of  nature  —  that  all  these  suns  and 
stars  visible  to  us,  are,  as  one  has  singularly 
said,  only  the  *' street-lamps  of  the  city  of 
God." 

And  then,  when  we  have  glanced  at  the 
extent  of  tliis  field  of  action  and  enjoyment, 
imagine,  if  possible,  the  infinite  variety  it 
affords  for  inquiry  and  intellectual  and  moral 
entertainment.  How  many  questions  crowd 
upon  the  mind  for  consideration.  ''Are  aU 
these  vast  globes  inhabited?  If  so,  what  is 
their  history  in  the  past  and  the  present  ?  Are 
the  inhabitants  pure  moral  intelligences,  or 
are  they  exposed  to  the  inroads  of  physical 
and  moral  evil  ?  What  are  the  gradations  of 
rank  and  intellect  among  them?  What  sci- 
ences do  they  cultivate?  What  knowledge 
have  they  of  other  portions  of  the  divine  em- 
pire? What  discoveries  have  they  made  of 
the  perfections  of  the  Deity,  of  the  plan  of  his 
government,  and  the  extent  of  his  dominions?'* 


THE   FUTUEE    LIFE.  145 

IThat  corporeal  vehicles  do  they  employ  In 
connection  with  the  material  world?  What 
kind  of  organization  are  they  endowed  with  ? 
In  what  organs  of  sense  or  faculties  of  mind 
do  they  differ  from  man?  What  is  their 
social  condition?  What  means  of  improve- 
ment and  progress  have  they?  What  is  the 
physical  character  of  the  planet  they  inhabit  ? 
What  diversity  of  external  scenery  greets  their 
sight?  What  celestial  glories  are  hung  out 
for  their  contemplation  In  the  canopy  of  heav- 
en ?  What  visible  displays  of  the  power  and 
wisdom  of  God  In  his  works  are  presented  to 
them?  What  exhibitions  of  his  goodness  In 
nature  or  by  revelation  have  they  been  favored 
with?  These  and  a  thousand  other  inquiries 
rise  up  before  the  mind  In  this  world ;  but  we 
have  no  answer.  What  variety  of  employ- 
ment and  happiness,  then,  will  the  soul  find 
hereafter  In  searching  into  these  things,  and 
Increasing  its  knowledge  of  the  wondrous 
works  and  ways  of  the  Infinite  One ;  and, 
through  this,  lifting  itself  Into  ever-growing 
10 


146  EMPLOYMENTS   OF 

adoration  and  love.  And  when  we  remember 
that  this  is  only  one  department  of  inquiry, 
and  yet  so  abundant  in  its  contributions  to  the 
active  enjoyments  of  heavenly  spirits ;  how 
vast  and  innumerable  must  be  the  sources 
which  God  has  supplied  for  the  improvement, 
instruction  and  blessedness  of  the  soul  in  tlie 
future  life  I 

It  is  certainly  strange  that,  to  so  great  an 
extent,  Christians  should  have  regarded  the 
almost  sole  employment  of  the  redeemed  to 
be,  the  celebration  in  songs  and  hallelujahs  of 
the  grace  of  God  in  the  redemption  through 
Christ  —  and  this  throughout  the  ceaseless 
ages  of  eternity  ;  wliile  the  boundless  and  infi- 
nitely glorious  universe  of  God,  with  its  num- 
berless suns  and  systems,  with  its  magnificent 
displays  of  the  divine  perfections,  lies  all 
around  them  unvisited,  unknown  and  uncared 
for ;  while  poetry,  with  which  creation  is  rife, 
pliilosophy,  science,  history,  and  the  activity 
and  the  joy  of  learning  and  Instructing,  are 
all  neglected  and  forgotten  I 


THE   FUTURE   LIFE.  147 

Doubtless  the  :first  will  constitute  an  im- 
portant part  of  the  beatitudes  of  the  heav- 
enly life ;  but  surely  the  last  will  contribute 
largely  to  the  same  result.  Certainly  every 
well  Instructed  Christian  will  confess  that  the 
views  we  'have  presented  seem  much  more 
accordant  with  the  character  of  God,  the  na- 
ture of  the  human  soul,  and  what  we  may 
reasonably  suppose  to  be  the  object  of  its 
future  endless  life — viz  :  advancement  forever 
in  spiritual  blessedness,  which  is  itself  the 
product  of  growth  forever  in  the  knowledge  of 
the  Divine  Being,  his'  government,  perfec- 
tions and  infinite  beneficence,  whether  reveal- 
ed In  Christ  or  In  his  works. 

And  with  the  various  capacities,  and  the 
dllFerent  stages  of  developement  of  spiritual 
beings,  what  room  for  mutual  aid,  instruction 
and  enjoyment.  Continually  arriving  from 
the  innumerable  worlds  which  people  the  vast 
regions  of  the  universe ;  will  not  these  new 
comers  require  the  guidance  and  teaching  of 
those  that  have  been  lons-er  inhabitants  of  the 


148  EMrLOYMENTS     OF 

celestial  sphere,  nnd  made  fartlier  progress  in 
heavenly  culture  and  education  ?  and  will  not 
both,  teacher  and  taught,. find  a  common  joy 
in  the  employment?  Who  that  ever  looked 
upon  an  affectionate  parent  instructing  his 
child,  pointing  out  the  beauties  of  a  flower  or 
a  plant,  or  the  glories  of  the  starry  host,  or 
recounting  some  history,  or  entertaining  le- 
gend—  who,  beholding  this,  and  witnessing 
the  calm  joy  and  satisfaction  beaming  from 
the  face  of  the  parent,  and  the  intense  interest 
and  delight  that  danced  in  the  eye,  and  lighted 
up  the  glowing  countenance  of  the  young 
learner,  did  not  feel  that  both  alike  were 
blessed  ?  did  not  feel  that  of  all  scenes  our  life 
exhibits,  this  is  among  the  most  lovely;  the 
most  perfect  picture  of  mutual  tenderness  and 
mutual  joy? 

And  why  should  the  heavenly  life  be  robbed 
of  it  ?  Why  may  not  the  more  advanced  and 
exalted  spirits  so  take  the  direction  and  in- 
struction of  the  younger ;  and  lead  them  forth 
from  world  to  worlds  and  initiate  them  into 


THE   FUTUEE   LIFE.  149 

the  mysteries,  and  unfold  to  them  the  splen- 
dors of  the  divine  workmansliip  ?  Why  not 
take"  them  in  charge  as  they  enter  the  celestial 
sphere,  and  in  familiar  instructive  converse 
walk  with  them  through  the  sounding  aisles, 
and  along  the  lofty  galleries  of  Natm-e's  great 
cathedral ;  till  they  shall  come  at  last,  filled 
with  wonder  and  joy,  to  the  chancel,  the  sanc- 
tuary, the  Holy  of  holies,  —  where  God  the 
Infinite  manifests  himself  in  glory  ineffable : 
where  cherubim  and  seraphim,  in  turn,  con- 
tinually do  cry,  Holy,  Holy  Lord  God  Al- 
mighty— great  and  marvellous  are  thy  works  ! 
glorious  in  wisdom  and  power  art  Thou,  doing 
wonders  continually  —  Blessed  be  thy  name, 
Thou  King  of  kings,  and  Lord  of  lords  ! 

0  sometimes,  when  adown  the  sky, 

The  fiery  sunset  lingers. 
Heaven's  golden  gates  swing  inward  noiselessly, 

Unlocked  by  unseen  fingers,  — 

And  while  they  stand  a  moment  half  ajar, 

Gleams  from  the  inner  glory, 
Stream  brightly  through  the  azure  vault  afar, 

And  half  reveal  the  story. 


VIII. 


Nor  bard,  nor  sage  may  comprehend 
The  heaven  oi"  love  to  which  we  tend, 
Our  home  is  not  this  mortal  clime  ; 
Our  life  hath  not  its  hounds  in  time ; 
And  death  is  but  the  cloud  that  lies 
Between  onr  souls  and  Paradise  ! 

m\  UT  there  are  other  elements  of  our  na- 
ture beside  the  intellectual,  which  find 
their  employment  and  joy  in  the  world 
of  light  and  glory.  We  have  already  alluded 
to  this  point,  but  it  has  so  much  comfort  in 
it  that  we  shall  enlarge  upon  it,  even  at  the 
risk  of  seeming  to  repeat  some  things  already 
said.  ]S^ot  only  the  mind,  but  the  heart  also, 
the  religious  and  social  affections,  will  find 
attractions  there,       ''In   the   Father's   house 


THE   ATTRACTIONS   OF   HEAVEN."        151 

there  are  many  mansions,"  and  in  each  one  of 
them  we  shall  find  some  new  delight,  some 
dear  remembered  face,  some  precious  jewel 
treasured  on  earth,  some  beautiful  and  beloved 
spirit  who  ministered  to  our  comfort  and  hap- 
piness -while  v.-e  were  pilgrims  in  this  lower 
world,  afar  from,  home.  Surely  we  shall  not 
be  alone  there  —  a  father  or  mother  will  meet 
us ;  a  husband  or  wife  or  beloved  child,  a 
brother  or  sister,  or  some  dear  friend  will 
welcome  us. 

Yes,  one  of  the  most  grateful  and  pleasing 
thoughts  of  the  future  life  is  that  which  renews 
the  loving  and  tender  associations  of  this. 
Heaven  will  be  to  the  future,  what  home  is 
to  the  present  life ;  the  sacred  place  where  the 
affections  may  utter  themselves  without  re- 
straint, where  the  heart  may  gather  up  its 
treasures,  rejoicing  in  its  everlasting  heritage 
of  love  and  blessedness.  There  our  cherished 
and  idolized  ones  will  gather  around  us,  and 
fold  their  arms  about  us,  and  engage  in  sweet 
and   pleasant   converse.      They  who   walked 


152        THE   ATTRACTIONS   OF  HEAVEN. 

with  US  in  the  cheerful  sunlight,  and  in  the 
solemn  shadows,  of  our  earthly  life.  They 
who  bore  with  us  the  heat  and  burthen  of  the 
day.  They  who  loved  us  as  we  yearned  to  be 
loved,  and  on  whom  the  gusliing  tenderness 
of  the  heart  was  poured  out  like  summer  rain 
upon  the  fields.  They  whose  sweet  faces  were 
like  smiles  from  heaven  on  our  earthly  sor- 
row, and  whose  kind  words  fell  on  the  worn 
heart  like  dew  on  withering  plants, — 

"  They  the  young  and  strong,  -who  cherished 

Noble  longings  for  the  strife, 
By  the  roadside  fell  and  perished, 

Weary  with  the  march  of  life  — 
They,  the  holy  ones  and  weakly 

Who  the  cross  of  suSering  bore, 
Folded  their  pale  hands  so  meekly, 

Spake  with  us  on  earth  no  more." 


All  these  shall  come  to  us  again — and  O  how 
blessed  the  meeting  —  * '  a  family  in  heav- 
en, no  wanderer  lost."  We  shall  live  again — - 
we  shall  be  tosrether  as^am.  Love  is  immortal 
as  the  soul.  And  the  poorest  and  most  hope- 
less of  earth's  children,  the  most  darkened  and 


THE   ATTK ACTIONS    OF   HEAVEN.        153 

wayward  and  forsaken,  is  still  loved  of  some 
one  in  the  great  crowd  of  life  —  and  God  loves 
us  all ! 

Yes,  we  shall  meet  again,  all  of  us,  and 
rejoice  together  in  the  glorious  light  of  the 
Sun  of  Kighteousness.  If  it  were  not  so,  the 
gift  of  a  future  life  would  be  of  little  worth. 
Take  from  us  those  we  love,  and  you  take 
away  all  that  makes  Heaven  desirable. 

For  "  0  how  dark,  how  drear,  how  lone 
Would  seem  the  brightest  world  of  bliss, 

If  wandering  through  each  radiant  sphere, 
We  failed  to  meet  the  loved  of  this." 

Tell  me  that  I  am  never  again  to  behold 
the  precious  ones  who  have  cared  for  me  and 
watched  over  me  here,  whose  spmts  were 
toned  in  chord  with  mine,  whose  gentle  minis- 
tries of  affection  have  given  life  all  its  beauty 
and  blessedness  —  tell  me  I  shall  never  see 
nor  be  Avith  these  again,  and  I  cannot  go  in 
peace,  I  w^ill  not  say  to  the  grave  —  but  not 
even  to  a  life,  however  glorious,  where  they 
are  not.     No ;  and  I  say  it  not  hastily,  but 


154        THE   ATTRACTIONS   OF  HEAVEN. 

with  much  thought  —  I  could  not  desire  a 
heaven,  where  I  am  not  to  find  those  dear 
beings  who  have  woven  themselves  like  golden 
threads  into  the  very  texture  of  my  soul,  and 
have  become  to  me  as  the  pulse  of  my  heart. 

Thanks  be  to  God  the  Father,  and  to  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ,  I  shall  find  them  —  every 
one  of  them  in  some  of  the  many  mansions  of 
the  Father's  house ;  and  there  together  we 
shall  lift  up  the  hymn  of  redemption,  and  be- 
hold the  glory  of  the  Lord's  creation,  and 
worship  in  the  beauty  of  holiness ;  for  there 
we  shall  be  renewed  in  the  spirit,  and  in  a 
higher  and  holier  sense  we  shall  be  the  chil- 
dren of  God,  being  children  of  the  Eesur- 
rection  ! 

There  is,  then,  everything  in  heaven  to 
make  it  attractive,  everything  to  call  our 
thoughts  thitherward.  There  is  light  and  truth 
without  darkness  or  error ;  tJcere  knowledge  is 
increasing  without  hindrance,  and  happiness 
witliout  limit ;  there  are  the  lost,  and  loved, 
and  beautiful  of  earth ;  tJiere  is  a  reunion   of 


THE   ATTRACTIONS   OF   HEAVEN.        155 

all  the  broken  links  and  sundered  ties  of 
affection;  tJiere  is  rest  and  peace,  for  ''God 
shall  wipe  away  all  tears  from  their  eyes ;  and 
there  shall  be  no  more  death,  neither  sorrow, 
nor  crying,  neither  shall  there  be  any  more 
pain,  for  the  former  things  are  passed  away." 
In  the  words  of  one,  to  whom  all  this  has 
now  become  a  reality ;  ' '  Why  should  I  fear 
to  die  ?  Let  me  rather  welcome  death  as  the 
beautiful  gate  that  leads  to  such  a  blessed 
immortality. 

Immortal  life  !  my  heavenly  home  !  How 
many  attractions  it  has  !  how  many  loved  ob- 
jects I  shall  meet  there  !  how  many  dear  and 
precious  memories  will  be  revived  there  ! 

I  shall  see  and  know  my  heavenly  Father 
there  as  I  have  never  seen  or  known  him  on 
this  earth.  How  Idnd  and  gracious  he  has 
been  to  me  !  how  precious  are  all  his  prom- 
ises !  How  sweet  then  is  the  thought,  I  shall 
see  him  unveiled  in  all  his  glory,  and  know 
him  as  my  best  and  truest  friend  ! 

I   shall  see  Jesus,    my  Saviour;    he  who 


156        THE    ATTRACTIOXS    OF   HEAVEN. 

loved  me  and  died  for  me.  How  many  rea- 
bons  are  there  for  loving  him  more  than  my 
poor,  sinful  heart  has  ever  done  !  But  I  shall 
see  him  in  my  heavenly  home,  and  know  him 
as  mine  and  the  world's  Saviour. 

I  shall  see  and  recognize  all  those  dear 
ones  of  my  heart,  who  have  passed  away  into 
the  spirit-world.  Their  presence,  their  kindly 
spirit  and  affection,  their  genial  friendship  and 
love,  made  this  world  very  bright  and  beauti- 
ful, but  now  they  have  left  it.  Welcome, 
then,  thrice  welcome  the  kind  hand  that  shall 
guide  me  to  those  I  love.  Dear  ones  will  be 
left  behind;  for  them  must  still  be  the  toil 
and  struggle  and  disappointment ;  for  them 
the  bitterness  of  parting ;  but  for  me,  oh,  how 
blessed  will  be  that  reunion  !  " 

And  there  is  yet  another  pleasing  thought, 
not  alluded  to  in  this  extract,  which  gives  at- 
tractiveness to  the  heavenly  life  —  we  shall 
meet  the  great  and  wise  and  good  of  all  times 
and  nations,  and  mingle  in  their  society,  and 
rejoice  in  their  fellowship.     There  we   shall 


THE  ATTRACTIONS   OF   HEAVEN.        157 

see  and  commune  with  Moses  and  Isaiah, 
with  Paul  and  John  ;  with  Confucius  and  Soc- 
^rates,  and  Plato,  and  Origen ;  with  Fenelon, 
and  Howard,  and  Channing ;  with  Bacon  and 
ISTewton,  and  a  host  of  others,  who,  bv  the 
splendor  of  their  intellects,  or  by  the  saintly 
goodness  of  their  lives,  glorified  the  earth, 
and  are  now  themselves  glorified  in  heaven. 
What  delight  to  speak  with  such  as  these,  to 
listen  to  their  instructive  speech,  to  hear  them 
recount  their  intellectual  triumphs,  their  vis- 
ions of  the  glory  of  the  Lord  Creator  as  dis- 
played in  his  works,  their  deeds  of  Christian 
benefaction,  their  divinely  beautiful  spiritual 
experiences,  their  great  deliverance  from  their 
earthly  bondage,  and  their  visits,  since  they 
were  clothed  upon  with  bodies  celestial,  to  the 
clustered  worlds  and  constellated  wonders  that 
flame  along  the  far-off  abysses  of  the  uni- 
verse !  O  what  a  joy  awaits  us  in  such  soci- 
ety as  this  ;  and  how  it  draws  the  soul  toward 
the  heavenly  land,  where  only  it  Is  possible  to 
behold  and  speak  with  these  glorified  spirits. 


158        THE   ATTRACTIONS   OF   HEAVEN-. 

And  thougli  we  do  not  love  the  elect  and  pre- 
cious of  earth  anj  less,  yet  it  takes  sometliing 
from  the  bitterness  of  death,  when  we  think  of 
the  great  company  of  noble  minds  whom  we 
go  to  join.  And  we  are  doubly  comforted  in 
the  thought  that,  by  and  by,  those  whom  we 
leave  behind  will  come  to  us,  and  share  with 
us  in  all  the  delights  of  tliis  heavenly  inter- 
course with  the  wise  and  the  noble,  the  great 
and  the  good,  of  all  ages  and  generations  ! 

Oh  yes,  we  shall  meet  in  a  world  that  is  bright, 
Where  God  and  the  Lamb  are  the  glory  and  light, 
Where  sorrow  is  ended,  and  tears  are  all  dried, 
And  the  love  of  the  faithful  no  longer  is  tried. 

0  ye  who  have  tasted  affliction's  strong  power. 
Remember  who  governs  the  desolate  hour, 
And  with  faith's  steady  vision  keep  strong  on  your  way, 
Assured  that  your  strength  shall  be  still  as  your  day. 

Thus  every  dear  spirit  whose  conflict  is  past, 

Hath  labored  and  striven  in  faith  to  the  last ; 

And  if  we  are  faithful,  as  they  whom  we  love, 

"  The'  we  miss  them  below,  we  shall  meet  them  above." 


IX. 


'Qi 


0  yes,  I  loTe  the  earth  —  its  cares  and  sorrows, 
Its  bounding  hopes,  its  feelings  fresh  and  warm, 

Each  cloud  it  wears,  and  every  light  it  borrows, 
Loves,  wishes,  fears,  the  sunshine  and  the  storm.  — 

1  love  them  all ;  but  closer  still  the  loving 
Twine  with  my  being's  chords,  and  make  my  life. 

UT  after  all  that  may  be  said  of  the 
glories  of  the  future,  and  of  the  attrac- 
tions of  heaven,  earth  also  has  its  at- 
tractions, which  it  is  hard  to  go  away  from  and 
leave  —  sweet  pictures  from  nature,  pleasant 
homes,  delightful  memories  of  the  past,  bright 
hopes  of  the  future,  extensive  usefulness,  a 
well  earned  reputation ;  and,  above  all,  dear 
friends  and  companions,  fond  and  faithful  pa- 
rents, a  devoted  husband,  an  affectionate  wife, 


160  ATTRACTIOXS   OF  EARTH. 

beloved  cliildren,  who,  by  tlieir  constant  kind- 
ness and  watchful  tenderness,  have  made  all 
the  years  of  our  life  beautiful  and  blessed. 
These  are  some  of  the  attractions  which  make 
life  on  earth  desirable,  some  of  the  strong  ties 
which  hold  us  to  the  present,  and  the  sunder- 
Ing  of  which  give  to  death  much  of  its  bitter- 
ness. It  is  hard  to  die,  and  leave  all  these » 
It  is  hard  to  die,  when  there  is  so  much  to 
live  for.  If  we  could  all  go  together,  it  would 
be  less  difficult;  it  would  be  easy  to  die,  and 
go  home  In  one  company  to  the  Father's 
house. 

Certainly  there  is  truth  in  all  this ;  and  it 
would  be  equally  wrong  and  useless  to  ignore 
it,  or  to  pretend  that  it  ought  not  to  have  any 
weight  with  a  Christian.  It  is  our  common 
human  nature  which  speaks  in  this ;  it  is  the 
heart  pleading  for  jfs  treasures  with  a  sacred 
constancy,  with  a  voice  of  tenderness,  which 
the  most  devout  and  submissive  Christian  can- 
not, and  would  not  wish,  to  silence.  In  lov- 
ing the  Saviour,  we  do  not  cease  to  love  our 


ATl^RACTIONS   OF  EAETH.  161 

friends  ;  nor  is  the  highest  trust  in  God  incon- 
isistcnt  with  the  fondest  attachments  of  human 
affection.  And  the  ever  compassionate  Father 
does  not  ask  us,  in  remembering  and  confid- 
ing in  Him,  to  forget,  or  cease  to  cling  to, 
those  who  have  lovingly  nestled  down  in  the 
secret  places  of  our  hearts. 

Still,  it  is  only  just  and  right  that  we  should 
have  a  reasonable  confidence  in  God,  that  we 
should  believe  in  the  wise  beneficence  of  his 
dealings  with  us,  even  if  thej^  do  disappoint 
our  wishes  ;  and  we,  in  our  blindness,  cannot 
sec  the  good  they  are  designed  to  work  out 
for  us.  This  assuredly  the  Father  has  a  right 
to  ask  at  our  hands  in  return  for  the  many 
thousand  proofs  of  his  goodness  to  us  in  the 
past ;  as  well  as  because  of  the  numerous  pos- 
itive declarations  and  precious  promises  of  his 
holy  word,  that  in  all  he  does  with  us,  for  us, 
to  us,  he  is  steadily  seeking  our  highest  inter- 
ests and  happiness.  We  see  through  a  glass 
darkly  now,  and  know  only  in  part ;  and  we 
must  not  expect,  therefore,  to  see  as  God 
11 


162  ATTRACTIONS    OF   EAEIH. 

sees,  or  perfectly  to  understand  his  tliougiitg 
or  his  ways,  wlilch  are  lilglier  than  ours  as 
the  heavens  are  higher  than  the  earth. 

You,  my  friend,  in  the  midst  of  your  life 
and  usefulness,  held  by  so  many  strong  cords 
of  aiiection,  feel  that  it  is  very  hard  to  die ; 
and  you  cannot  see  how  your  death  can  have 
any  good  in  it  for  yourself,  or  for  those  dear 
ones  who  so  fondly  cling  to  you,  and  shelter 
themselves  so  trustingly  under  the  protection 
of  your  love.  I  will  not  pretend  that  I  clearly 
see  it  either ;  but  I  know  that  there  is  much 
good  hidden  in  evil  that  I  did  not  see  once, 
which  is  now  distinctly  visible  to  me ;  and 
events,  which,  at  the  time,  I  deplored  as  the 
greatest  sorrows  of  my  life,  have  long  ago 
shaped  themselves  into  the  greatest  blessings. 
And  so  I  have  learned  to  be  slow  and  humble 
in  my  judgment  of  the  ways  of  God ;  and  I 
try,  however  great  the  struggle  it  costs,  to 
pray  in  my  sorrows,  as  well  as  in  my  joys, 
living  or  dying:  ^^Thy  will,  and  not  mine, 
be  done." 


ATTRACTIONS   OF   ExkRTH.  163 

And  have  not  you,  my  dear  friend,  required 
from  your  children  the  same  confidence  and 
loving  submission  which  you  so  reluctantly 
yield  toward  your  Father  in  heaven?  How 
often  have  the  plans,  which  your  judgment 
and  affection  devised  for  the  good  of  your 
boy,  the  pride  of  your  heart,  conflicted  with 
his  wishes  and  desires.  He  had  his  own  views 
of  the  best  method  of  securing  happiness  ;  and 
perhaps  believed  that  freedom  from  all  re- 
straint, the  society  of  his  mates,  the  absence 
of  all  study  and  work,  and  a  perpetual  round 
of  amusements,  made  up  the  sum  of  human 
enjoyment.  On  the  other  hand,  you  kneiv 
that  education  and  knowledge,  employment, 
usefulness  and  a  manly  tone  of  thought  and 
character,  were  the  surest  and  only  path  to 
happiness. 

And  this  Is  exactly  the  relation  existing  be- 
tween God  the  Father  and  you  his  child.  To 
your  boy  play  seems  better  than  school,  but  It 
is  not ;  and  when  boyhood  passes  into  man- 
hood he  will  see  his  mistake,  and  thank  you 


164  ATTRACTIONS    OF    EARTH. 

for  denying  lils  prayers  and  preferences.  And 
yet  it  is  a  real  grief  to  liim  to  give  up  his 
games  and  frolics  ;  but  it  ,is  a  blessed  grief, 
for  it  brings  Iiim  to  knowledge  and  honor  and 
true  happiness.  In  reality  his  grief  is  joy  in 
diss^uise. 

Is  it  not  so  with  you,  with  us  all,  when  our 
will  does  not  agree  with  the  Avill  of  God, 
when  our  plans  do  not  harmonize  with  his? 
You  wish  to  live,  to  stay  in  this  world  v.ith 
those  whose  love  and  companionship  arc  so 
dear  to  you  —  this  is  a  greater  good  to  you 
than  to  depart  and  be  here  no  more.  In  a 
word,  life  is  the  onl}^  good,  death  is  the  only 
evil.  But  it  is  plain  that  God  thinks  differ- 
ently, or  he  would  not  now  be  leading  you 
down  to  the  banks  of  the  river  of  death.  And 
are  you  not  safer  in  trusting  to  his  knowl- 
edge than  to  your  own?  are  you  surer  of 
abiding  blessedness  for  yourself  or  your  be- 
loved ones,  when  you  follow  the  path  of 
your  own  wishes,  instead  of  the  path  of  his 
wisdom  ? 


ATTRACTIONS   OF   EARTH.  165 

In   a  word,  to  come  directly  to  the  real 
issue,  if  your  Father  in  heaven  should  speak 
to  you  audibly,  and  tell  you,  that  of  his  infi- 
nite knowledge  he  had  determined  it  was  bet 
ter  for  you  to  die  now,  would  you  be  willing, 
if  it  were  left  to  you,   to  take   the  risk  of 
living  ?     Would  you  dare  the  solemn  respon- 
sibility of  setting  up  your  decision  against  his  ? 
Now  this  is  really  the  state  of  the  case.     God 
has  spoken  to  you,  not  audibly,  but  by  the 
fact  of  your  present  condition,  and  told  you 
that  it  is  better  for  you  to  go  hence  over  the 
river,  into  the  realms  of  immortal  life  !     Had 
you  not  then  better  leave  it  with  Him,  your 
Father  in  heaven,  whose  wisdom  never  errs, 
and  whose  love  will  never  fail  you  ?  and  will 
you  not  try,  with  a  sweet  and  childlike  trust, 
to  say,  even  if  the  tears  come  with  it :  "Thy 
will,  O   God,  and  not  mine,  be  done."     Be 
sure  that,  with  effort  and  prayer,  strength  will 
come,  and  resignation,  and  by  and  by,  peace 
passing  knowledge   and  expression.     And  it 
will  be  fulfilled  unto  you  at  last,  the  promise 


166  ATTRACTIONS   OF   EARTH. 

of  Jesus  to  his  disciples  :  * '  I  will  pray  the 
Father,  and  he  shall  send  the  Comforter  in 
my  name,  that  he  may  abide  with  you  forever, 
even  the  Spirit  of  Truth." 

*«At  last"  —  for  this  perfect  calm  and  res- 
ignation will  not  come  at  once,  and,  as  re- 
marked, not  without  effort.  No  one,  however 
firm  his  faith,  ever  met  a  great  trial,  or  bore  a 
great  sorrow,  with  patience  and  a  cheerful 
submission,  without  first  passing  through  a 
season  of  self-conflict.  Even  the  Saviour  had 
this  experience,  and  it  is  this  very  fact  that 
makes  him  nearer  and  dearer  to  every  v>^eary 
and  suffering  soul.  It  is  a  thought  full  of 
comfort  that  we  have  an  ' '  high-priest  who  can 
be  touched  with  the  feeling  of  our  infirmi- 
ties ;"  for  in  that  he  himself,  hath  suffered,  he 
is  able  to  succor  all  them  that  come  unto  him. 
And  consider  how  Jesus  was  in  the  very 
bosom  of  God  and  knew  his  counsels,  and 
knew  the  saving  purpose  of  his  own  death, 
and  the  glorious  resurrection  which  was  to  fol- 
low *,  and  yet,  when  the  hour  of  trial  came, 


ATTRACTIONS   OF   EARTH.  167 

how  great  was  that  agony  in  the  garden ! 
Yes,  even  Chi-ist  struggled  with  his  lot,  and 
exclaimed,  *'0  Father,  if  it  be  possible,  let 
this  cup  pass  from  me  ! "  and  it  was  not  till 
after  this  struggle  and  sorrowful  exclamation, 
that  the  spirit  rose  triumphant  over  the  quiv- 
ering nerves  and  fainting  pulses  of  the  flesh, 
and  uttered  itself  in  the  divine  prayer  :  <«  Nev- 
ertheless, not  as  I  will,  but  as  thou  wilt." 

If  this,  then,  was  the  experience  of  our 
blessed  Lord,  surely  you  must  not  expect, 
frail  and  feeble  as  you  are,  to  conquer  your- 
self, and  sunder  all  the  ties  that  bind  you  to 
life,  in  a  moment,  and  witliout  any  inward 
conflict.  No,  it  will  require  time  and  effort, 
and  much  thought  and  prayer,  and  commu- 
nion with  your  own  soul  and  with  the  Holy 
Spirit.  And  you  should  not  accuse  your  faith 
or  piety  because  it  is  so.  God  knows  your 
heart,  and  looks  upon  you  with  compassion 
and'  tender  pity,  and  will  help  you  to  over- 
come at  last.  He  does  not  say  to  you  *^  sor- 
row not" — but   '* sorrow  not  as  those  Avho 


168  ATTRACTIONS    OF   EARTH. 

are  without  liope."  He  asks  you  to  trust  in 
him  as  a  refuge  and  support,  and  to  receive 
into  your  heart  the  great  hope  of  the  gospel, 
the  hope  of  immortal  life,  which  he  has  given 
as  a  comfort  and  an  encoiu'ao'ement  in  the 
hour  of  trial.  He  calls  upon  you  to  appro- 
priate to  yourself  the  blessed  promises  of  Ins 
word,  that  ''none  of  us  liveth  to  himself,  and 
no  man  dieth  to  liimself,  for  w^liether  w^e  live, 
we  live  unto  the  Lord ;  and  whether  w^e  die, 
we  die  unto  the  Lord  :  whether  we  live  there- 
fore, or  die,  we  are  the  Lord's."  ''For  to 
this  end  Christ  both  died,  and  rose,  and  re- 
vived, that  he  might  be  Lord  both  of  the  dead 
and  the  livlno^."  And  "w^e  know  that  if  our 
earthly  house  of  this  tabernacle  were  dissolved, 
we  have  a  building  of  God,  a  house  not  made 
with  hands,  eternal  in  the  heavens." 

And  in  parting  with  your  loved  ones,  his 
Word  of  truth  reminds  you  that  the  separa- 
tion is  only  for  a  little  time.  The  difference 
is  not  that  you  die,  and  they  live ;  but  that 
you   die  to-day,  and  they  die  to-morrow.     It 


ATTKACTIONS    OF   EARTH.  169 

is  a  difference  of  time  only,  and  not  of  fact  or 
condition.  Tke  same  experience  awaits  us  all. 
Life  is  short  at  the  longest,  only  an  hand- 
breadth  ;  and.  then  those  you  leave  behind 
come  to  join  you,  and  you  will  be  together 
forevermore.  And  till  then  he  has  promised 
to  watch  over  them,  and  keep  them,  and  cause 
all  things  to  work  together  for  their  good! 
Leave  them,  then,  in  his  hands,  for  he  will 
care  for  them,  and  not  a  hair  of  their  heads 
shall  fall  to  the  ground  without  his  permission. 
And  it  may  be  that,  when  you  have  crossed 
over  to  the  other  shore,  he  will  still  permit 
you  to  behold  them  with  open  vision,  to  follow 
them  in  all  their  earthly  paths,  to  witness  their 
joys,  and  to  understand  the  beneficent  mean- 
ino-  and  use  of  all  their  sorrows.  The  river  of 
death  is  very  narrow,  and  though  with  our 
dim  earthly  eyes  we  are  not  able  to  discover 
those  on  the  other  side;  it  is  possible  that 
they,  with  their  clear  spiritual  sight,  may 
easily  look  over  to  this  side.  Whether  it  be 
so  or  not,  go  forth  cheerfully  trusting  in  God, 


170  ATTIIACTIONS    or   EARTH. 

and  surrendering  all  your  earthly  treasures 
into  his  care,  whether  husband  or  wife,  pa- 
rents or  children.  Go,  confident  that  you  and 
yours  are  the  objects  of  his  parental  regard,  of 
liis  everlasting  love. 

If  life  could  be  always  alluring  and  bright 
As  it  seems  in  its  innocent  morning,  ^ 

No  shade  on  its  prospect  —  sweet  visions  at  night 
The  calm  of  its  slumber  adorning  — 
Too  fondly  and  closely  our  spirits  would  trust 
In  the  pleasures  which  earth  seemed  to  give  them, 
And  slowly  and  faintly  would  rise  from  the  dust 
As  if  it  were  sorrow  to  leave  them. 

* 
'Tis  well  that  some  shadows  flit  over  our  way, 

Some  clouds  hover  darkly  above  it. 

They  teach  us  while  Earth  is  a  scene  of  decay, 

It  were  folly  too  deeply  to  love  it ; 

Its  joys  and  its  hopes,  for  a  moment  which  gleam, 

Soon  fade^ike  a  vision  at  even, 

While  our  spirits  turn  gladly  from  Earth's  passing  dream 

To  the  glorious  sunhght  of^eaven. 


-^^m^om^f^ 


t  gjxitg  jtr0  ntd  Sttfftr. 


Lift  up  thy  drooping  head, 
Thou  who  in  gloom  and  dread 

Hast  Iain  so  long  ; 
And  raise  thy  hands  and  pray, 
And  God  will  smooth  thy  way, 

And  maUe  thee  strong. 

K\  NE  fact  more  demands  attention  before 
r/  closing  tliis  portion  of  our  work.  Many 
persons,  excellent  in  character,  Chris- 
tian in  faith,  have  an  unconquerable  dread  of 
dying  —  not  of  being  dead,  not  of  anything 
that  may  come  after  they  are  dead  —  but  of 
the  supposed  agony  of  dying.  It  is  ^a  very 
common  beiief  that  there  is  dreadful  suf- 
fering, inexpressible  bodily  anguish,  attend- 
ant upon  the  process  of  death,  or  the  dissolu- 


172  THE  DYING  DO  NOT  SUFFEE. 

tion  of  the  connection  between  the  soul  and 
the  hodj. 

But  mostly  this  is  an  entire  mistake.  A 
brain  fever,  the  inflammatory  rheumatism,  a 
single  day's  endurance  of  severe  neuralgia,  has 
more  torture  in  it  than  twenty  deathvS.  As  a 
rule  death  itself,  as  far  as  we  have  any  data 
for  a  conclusion,  is  accompanied  with  compar- 
atively little  or  lio  pain,  or  physical  suffering . 
And  this  for  a  very  simple  reason,  where  there 
is  lengthened  sickness,  or  acute  disease,  viz : 
the  power  of  suffering  is  exhausted  before  it 
comes  to  death ;  the  nervous  system  is  com- 
pletely prostrated,  and  the  muscles  relaxed; 
and  thus  sensation  is  gradually  deadened, 
pain  ceases,  consciousness  slowly  fades  out, 
and  the  dying  one  is  as  if  he  were  falling  into 
a  profound  and  quiet  sleep.  This  is  the  pre- 
vailing witness  of  those  who  have  gone  down 
to  the  very  gates  of  death,  and  returned 
aa'ain  ;  even  in  those  cases  where  conscious- 
ness  was  perfect,  and  ever^^thing  within  the 
room  was   seen    and   heard    and   understood, 


THE  DYING  DO  NOT  SUFFER.     173 

without  the  power  of  expression  in  word  or 
motion. 

The  truth  Is,  the  pain  is  in  the  disease,  not 
la  death,  and  all  the  agony  and  suffering  are 
over  before  the  final  moment  of  departure  ; 
'and  there  Is  not  only  an  absence  of  pain  in 
death  itself  or  in  dyins:  but  often  the  i^weetest 
quiet,  a  blessed  sense  of  relief  and  repose,  and 
sometimes  the  most  beautiful  visions  of  coming 
light  and  glory. 

Touching  tliis  subject,  the  following,  from 
high  authority,  will  be  found  comforting  and 
instructive : 

* '  The  pain  of  dying  must  be  distinguished 
from  the  pain  of  the  previous  disease ;  for 
when  life  ebbs,  sensibility  declines.  As  death 
is  the  final  extinction  of  corporeal  feelings,  so 
numbness  increases  as  death  comes  on.  The 
prostration  of  disease,  like  healthful  fatigue, 
engenders  a  growing  stupor  —  a  sensation  of 
subsiding  softly  into  a  coveted  repose.  The 
so-called  agony  can  never  be  more  formidable 
than  when  the  brain  is  the  last  to  go,  and  the 


174  THE  DYING  DO  NOT  SUFFER. 

mind  preserves  to  the  end  a  rational  cogni- 
zance of  the  state  of  the  body.     Yet  persons 
thus   situated  commonly  attest  that  there  are 
few  tilings  in  life  less  painful  than  the  close. 
'If  I  had  strength  enough  to  hold  a  pen,'  said 
William  Hunter,    *I  would  write  how  easy 
and  delightful  it  is  to  die.'     *If  this  is  dying,' 
said  the  niece  of  Newton,    *it  is  a  pleasant 
thing  to  die  ; '  *  the  very  expression,'  adds  her 
uncle,    'which  another  friend  of  mine  made 
use  of  on   her  death-bed  a  few  years  ago.' 
The  same  words  have  so   often  been  uttered 
under  similar  circumstances,  that  we  could  fiU 
pages  with  instances  which  are  only  varied  by 
the  name  of  the  speaker.     *  If  this  be  dying,' 
said  Lady  Clenorchy,   'it  is  the  easiest  thing 
imaginable.'     'I  thought  that  dying  had  been 
more  difficult,'  said  Louis  XIY.     '  I  did  not 
suppose  it  was  so  sweet  to  die,'  said  Francis 
Suarez,  the   Spanish  theologian.     An  agree- 
able   surprise   was    the    prevailing   sentiment 
with  them  all.     They  expected  the  stream  to 
terminate  in  the  dash  of  the  torrent,  and  they 


THE    DYING    DO    NOT    StFFER.  17o 

found  it  was  losing  itself  in  tlie  gentlest  cur- 
rent. The  whole  of  the  ficulties  seem  some- 
times concentrated  on  the  placid  enjoyment. 
The  day  Arthur  Miirphy  died  he  kept  repeat- 
ing from  Pope : 

♦  Taught  half  by  reason,  half  by  mere  decay, 
To  welcome  death,  and  calmly  pass  away.' 

*' A  second  and  common  condition  of  the  dy- 
ing is  to  be  lost  to  tliemselves  and  all  around 
them,  in  utter  unconsciousness.  Countenance 
and  gestures  might  in  many  cases  sugo-est 
that,  however^dead  to  the  external  world,  an 
interior  sensibility  still  remained.  But  w^e 
have  the  evidence  of  those  whom  disease  has 
left  at  the  eleventh  hour,  that  while  their  sup- 
posed sufferings  were  pitied  by  their  friends, 
existence  was  a  blank.  The  delirium  of  fever 
is  distressing  to  witness ;  but  the  victim 
awakes  from  it  as  from  a  heavy  sleep,  totally 
ignorant  that  he  has  passed  days  and  nights 
tossing  wearily  and  talking  wildly." 

And  what,  let  me  add,  can  be  more  distres- 
sing to  look  upon  than  the  distorted  features 


DO    NOT    SUFFER.  ■ 

and  violent  spasms  wliicli  attend  epileptic  fits  ? 
Yet  it  is  well  known  that  tliere  is  no  suffer- 
ing in  tliese  cases ;  tliose  affected  being  often 
wholly  unconscious  even  of  the  attack,  though 
uttering  the  most  dismal  groans,  and  seeming 
to  be  in  greatest  agony.  So  what  we  some- 
times witness  when  standing  by  the  bedside 
of  the  dying,  the  convulsion  of  the  limbs,  the 
painful  expression  of  the  features,  and  Other 
signs  of  suffering,  are,  as  a  rule,  purel}^  mus- 
cular, vv'ithout  any  more  pain  than  attends 
epileptic  affections,  or  the  sudden  contraction 
and  jumping  of  the  muscles  whicli  frequently 
precedes  falling  asleep.  And  those  who  have 
recovered  from  this  seemingly  dying  condition, 
which  includes  all  there  is  in  physical  death, 
declare  that,  all  suffering  ceased  before  they 
reached  this  point,  and  that  they  were  nearly 
unconscious,  or  in  a  state  of  perfect  quiet. 

These  testimonies  of  the  dying  might  be  in- 
creased to  any  extent,  showing  that,  as  a  rule, 
whatever  perturbations  may  have  preceded, 
there  is  in  the  article  of  death  itself  an  almost 


THE  DYING  DO  NOT  SUFFER.     177 

entire  absence  both  of  physical  and  mental  suf- 
fering. Heaven  seems  very  merciful  to  us  in 
the  last  hour,  and,  soothing  all  our  pains, 
vouchsafes  to  us  a  quiet  and  peaceful  depar- 
ture to  the  land  of  rest.  Dr.  Black,  worn  out 
by  age,  and  a  tendency  to  pulmonary  hemor- 
rhage, which  obliged  him  to  live  very  low, 
while  eating  his  customary  frugal  meal,  fell 
asleep,  and  died  in  so  tranquil  a  manner,  that 
he  did  not  spill  the  contents  of  the  spoon 
which  he  held  in  his  hand.  And  the  death  of 
Sir  Charles  Blagden  was  in  much  the  same 
way ;  for  while  enjoying  a  social  meal  with 
some  of  his  intimate  friends,  he  died  in  his 
chair  so  quietly  that  not  a  drop  of  the  coffee 
in  the  cup,^which  he  held  in  his  hand,  was 
spilled.  Haller  died  feeling  his  pulse,  and 
when  it  was  almost  gone,  he  turned  to  liis 
brother  physi^icm,  and  said  cheerfully,  ''My 
friend,  the  aitery  ceases  to  beat,"  and  quietly 
breathed  his  last*  Petrarch  and  Leibnitz  both 
died,  the  hand  still  holding  the  book  they 
were  reading;  and  Lucan,  Roscommon  and 
12 


178     THE  DYLSG  DO  NOT  SUFFER. 

Klopstock  died  repeating  their  own  poetiy. 
Sclililcr,  when  dying,  replied  to  an  inquiring 
friend,  "I  am  feeling  calmer  and  calmer/' 
And  the  poet  Keats,  on  being  asked  how  he 
felt,  just  before  he  died,  answered  with  char- 
acteristic sweetness  and  beauty,  "Better,  my 
friend  ;  I  feel  the  daisies  growing  over  me." 

When  Mozart  had  given  the  finishing 
touches  to  that  wonderful  '^  Requiem, ^^  his  last 
and  sweetest  composition,  he  fell  into  a  quiet 
and  composed  slumber.  On  awaking,  he  said 
to  his  daughter,  "Come  hither,  my  Emilie, 
my  task  is  done  ;  the  Requiem  —  my  Requiem 
is  finished."  "O  no,"  said  the  gentle  girl, 
the  tears  filling  her  eyes,  "you  will  be  better 
now  ;  and  let  me  go  and  bring  you  something 
refreshing."  "Do  not  deceive  yourself,  my 
love,"  he  replied,  "I  am  beyond  human  aid; 
I  am  dying,  and  I  look  to  Heaven's  mercy 
only  for  aid.  You  spoke  of  refreshment  — 
take  these  last  notes  of  mine  ;  sit  down  by  my 
piano  here  —  sing  them  with  the  hymn  of 
your  sainted  mother  —  let  me  once  more  hear 


TnE  DYING  DO  KOT  SUFFER.  179 

those  tones  which  have  so  long  been  my 
solace  and  delight."  His  daughter  complied, 
and,  with  a  voice  tremulous  with  emotion, 
sung  the  following : 

Spirit !  thy  labor  is  o'er  ! 
The  race  ot  the  mortal  is  run ; 
Thy  steps  are  now  bound  for  the  untrodden  shore, 
And  the  race  of  immortals  begun. 

Spirit  !   look  not  on  the  strife 
Or  the  pleasures  of  earth  with  regret  — 
Pause  not  on  the  threshold  of  limitless  life, 
To  mouru  for  the  day  that  is  set. 

Spirit !  no  fetters  can  bind, 
No  wicked  have  power  to  molest ; 
There  the  weary,  like  thee,  and  the  wretched,  shall  find 
A  home,  and  a  mansion  of  rest. 

Spirit !  how  bright  is  the  road 
For  which  thou  art  now  on  the  wing  ! 
Thy  home  it  will  be  with  thy  Saviour  and  God, 
Their  praises  forever  to  sing. 

As  the  last  notes  died  away  into  silence, 
the  spirit  of  the  great  composer  took  its  flight 
heavenward ;  and  as  the  daughter  turned  for 
the  accustomed  words  of  approval,  she  saw 
only  the  sweet  smile    of  contentment  which 


180  THE  DYING  DO  NOT  SUFFEE. 

still  lingered  on  the  face  of  death,  and  re- 
vealed the  unutterable  peace  of  his  dying. 

The  departure  o{  Beethoven,  whose  musical 
compositions  are  still  the  delight  of  mankind, 
was  equally  beautiful  and  impressive.  He 
was  entirely  deaf,  and  never  knew  the  joy  of 
hearins:  his  own  wonderful  creations.  He  had 
been  for  some  time  slowly  sinking  away  into 
the  arms  of  death,  when  one  day  he  suddenly 
revived ;  and,  as  a  bright  smile  lighted  up  his 
expressive  features,  he  softly  murmured,  "/ 
shall  hear  in  heaven!'^  and  immediately  he 
beiran  sino^ins:  in  a  low,  but  clear  and  distinct 
voice,  one  of  his  own  beautiful  hymns  —  and 
so  passed  "over  the  river"  into  the  land 
of  immortal  song,  and  joined  the  choir  of 
angels. 

These  examples,  gathered  from  all  condi- 
tions of  life  and  culture,  have  been  multiplied 
for  the  purpose  of  comforting  those  who  are 
approaching  dedth,  and  imparting  courage  to 
those  who  dread  the  physical  suffering  sup- 
posed to  accompany  dying.     They  show  that 


THE  DYING  DO  NOT  SUFFEE.     181 

the  rule  is  the  reverse  of  what  most  persona 
think  it ;  and  that  the  facts,  as  far  as  we  have 
them,  prove  that  the  suffering,  as  we  have 
already  said,  is  not  in  death,  but  in  the  sick- 
ness which  precedes  it ;  that  dying  is  very  like 
falling  into  a  quiet  sleep. 

And  there  is  mostly  also  an  absence  not 
only  of  bodily  distress,  but  of  mental  distress. 
The  fear   of  death,  and  the  struggle  against 
it,    and    all    unreconciliation,    seem    to    fade 
away   as    death   itself  approaches,    and  leave 
us   calm  and   placid  as    a   summer  evening. 
It   is   certainly  very  remarkable,   this  almost 
universal  experience.     Sir  James  Brodie,  as 
the  result  of  his  extensive  practice  and  long 
observation,  not  only  decides  that  the  act  of 
dying  is  seldom  in  any  sense  a  painful  pro- 
cess ;  but  also  declares  that  he  has   *  *  never 
known  but  two  instances  in  which,  in  the  act 
of  dying,  there  were  manifest  indications   of 
the  fear  of  death." 

A  similar  witness  is  given  by  a  well-known 
lady   connected   with   the   Western    Sanitary 


182  THE  DYING  DO  NOT  SUFFER. 

Commission,  who  has  been  present  at  many 
hundreds  of  death-scenes  among  the  soldiers. 
In  only  two  cases  out  of  the  multitude  com- 
ing under  her  observation,  was  there  any  man- 
ifest terror,  or  mental  disturbance,  at  the 
approach  of  death. 

In  confirmation  of  these  testimonies  the 
writer  of  this  book  can  add  the  experience  and 
observation  of  a  pastoral  ministry  of  more 
than  thirty  years.  In  very  few  instances  out 
of  hundreds  dying  in  youth,  and  in  old  age, 
and  in  the  full  flush  of  meridian  life,  has  there 
been  any  appearance  even  of  great  physical 
suffering ;  and  he  cannot  recall  a  single  ex- 
ample of  unconquerable  terror  in  the  act  of 
dying.  On  the  contrary,  though  in  many 
cases  there  has  been  a  fear  of  death  during 
sickness,  a  dread  of  dying,  yet  when  the  hour 
came,  it  had  all  passed  away,  and  in  the  place 
of  it  there  was  a  perfect  resignation,  and  a 
peace  passing  expression. 

And  further  illustration  of  this  interesting 
fact   might   be  given >  if  one  who  has  been 


f 
THE  DYING  DO  NOT  SUFFER.     183 

down   to   the    gates   of  death   and   returned 

again,  might  speak  of  his  own  personal  expe- 
rience. But  there  is  something  sacred  beyond 
speech  in  the  memories  of  that  solemn  and 
holy  time,  in  that  sense  of  God's  nearness,  in, 
that  profound  calm  and  serenity  of  soul,  the 
absence  of  all  disturbing  influences  both  of 
body  and  of  mind,  of  all  regret  and  earthly 
longings ;  the  blessed  consciousness  of  being- 
held  up,  sustained  within  and  without,  by 
the  divine  power;  the  consciousness,  too,  of 
having  full  possession  of  all  the  faculties, 
and  yet  losing  all  thought  and  sense  of  death 
in  its  ordinary  definitions,  and  feeling  that  the 
change  tlu-ough  which  we  are  passing  is  trans- 
lation rather  than  dissolution ;  to  feel  that 
slowly,  silently,  painlessly,  we  are  being  lifted 
out  of  the  body,  that  the  spirit's  vision  grows 
clearer  and  stronger,  that  we  begin  to  see 
through  the  shadows,  and  far  forward  and  on- 
ward through  realms  of  light,  almost  into  the 
immortal  —  truly,  one  who  has  had  this  expe- 
rience comprehends  what  it  is  to  die  —  knows 


184  THE  DYING  DO  NOT  SUFFER. 

all  there  Is  in  death,  though  he  may  yet  live 
and  for  him 

'Tis  easy  now  to  seo 
How  lovely  and  how  sweet  a  pass 
The  hour  of  death  may  be. 

To  close  the  eye,  and  close  the  ear, 

Wrapped  ia  a  trance  of  bliss, 
And,  gently  drawn  in  loving  arms. 

To  swoon  to  that  —  from  this : 
Scarce  knowing  if  we  wake  or  sleep. 

Scarce  asking  where  we  are, 
To  feel  all  evil  sink  away, 

All  sorrow  and  all  car®  ; 

While  loving  spirits  hover  near, 

And  nestle  at  our  side, 
And  into  all  our  thoughts  and  prayers 

With  gentle  helpings  glide  — 
Then  death  between  us  is  as  naught, 

A  dried  and  vanished  stream  — 
Their  joy  is  the  reaUty, 

Our  passing  life  the  dream. 


I0misisrl^fi0iras  hx  i|ie  ^mmb^h* 


Blessed  be  (Jod,  even  the  Father  of  our  Lord  Jesua  Chrisc,  the  Father 
of  mercies,  and  the  God  of  all  comfort ;  who  comforteth  us  in  all  our 
tribulation,  that  we  may  be  able  to  comfort  them  which  are  in  any- 
kind  of  trouble,  by  the  comfort  wherewith  we  ourselves  are  comforted 
of  GoijU— 2  0or.!.3,4. 


We  will  not  weep  ;  for  God  is  standing  by  us, 

And  t«ars  will  blind  us  to  the  blessed  sight ; 
We  will  not  doubt ;  if  darkness  still  doth  try  us. 

Our  souls  have  promise  of  serenest  light. 
We  will  not  faint ;  if  heavy  burdens  bind  us, 

They  press  no  harder  than  our  souls  can  bear ; 
The  thorniest  way  is  lying  still  behind  us, 

We  shall  be  braver  for  our  past  despair. 

0,  not  in  doubt  shall  be  our  journey's  ending, 

Sin  with  its  fears,  shall  leave  us  at  the  last ! 
All  its  best  hopes  in  glad  fulfilment  blending, 

Life  shall  be  with  us  still  when  death  is  past. 
Help  us,  0  Father  !   when  the  world  is  pressing 

On  our  frail  hearts',  'that  faint  without  their  friend  5 
Help  us,  O  Father  !  let  thy  constant  blessing 

Strengthen  our  weakness,  —  till  the  joyful  end. 


t  "^tnBom  of  Saxxok, 


Deem  not  that  they  are  blest  alone, 
Whose  dajs  a  peaceful  tenor  keep  ; 

The  God  who  loves  our  race  has  shown 
A  blessing  for  the  eyes  that  weep. 

fT  is  a  just  observation  of  an  eloquent 
writer,  that  "sorrow  as  illustrated  in 
Christ's  life,  and  as  interpreted  in  his 
scheme  of  religion,  has  assumed  a  new  aspect, 
and  yields  a  new  meaning.  Its  garments  of 
heaviness  have  become  transfigured  to  robes 
of  light,  its  crown  of  thorns  to  a  diadem  of 
glory  ;  and  often,  for  some  one  whom  the  rich 
and  joyful  of  this  world  pity  —  some  suffer- 
ing, struggling,  overshadowed  soul  —  comes 
there  a  voice  from  heaven,  *This  is  my  be- 
loved son,  in  whom  I  am  well  pleased.'" 


188  THE   LESSONS   OF  SOEROW. 

It  is  certainly  true,  that  the  suffering  and 
the  death  of  Christ,  and  the  spirit  in  which 
they  were  met  and  endured,  have  given  a  new 
meaning  and  dignity  to  sorrow.  And  there  is 
something  morally  grand  and  beautiful  in  it, 
when  borne  with  sweetest  patience  and  seren- 
ity of  soul,  by  some  frail  and  feeble  sufferer 
who,  but  for  the  example  and  the  religion  of 
Christ,  would  sink  under  it  into  despair;  or 
be  irritated  into  pitiful  and  useless  resistance 
against  that  gracious  Providence  which  is  for- 
ever shaping  evil  to  some  beneficent  result. 
And  how  many  have  thus  been  made  strong 
in  their  weakness  by  the  life  and  sorrows  and 
death  of  the  blessed  Saviour.  How  many 
have  bowed  in  willing  submission  to  the  divine 
appointments,  and  welcomed  to  their  souls  the 
perfect  peace  of  resignation,  when  they  have 
come  to  see  that  they  are  only  treading  the 
path  which  Jesus  trod  before  them,  and  trod 
too  for  their  sake,  that  they  might  have  cour- 
age to  go  on  to  the  end. 

That  is  a  singularly  significant  and  suggest- 


THE   LESSONS   OF   SORROW.  189 

ive  statement  of  the  apostle:  ''Foryehave 
not  received  the  spirit  of  bondage  again  to 
fear;  but  ye  have  received  the  spirit  of  adop- 
tion, whereby  we  cry  Abba  !  Father  !  The 
Spirit  Itself  beareth  witness  with  our  spirit, 
that  we  are  the  children  of  God :  and  If  chil- 
dren, then  heirs;  heirs  of  God,  and  joint- 
heirs  with  Christ,  If  so  be  that  we  suffer  with 
him,  that  we  may  be  also  glorified  together." 
If  so  he  that  we  suffer  with  him !  Is  It  not 
clear  from  this  that  suffering  Is  one  of  the 
estabHshed  ordinances  of  God,  with  specific 
reference  to  our  spiritual  discipline  and  exalta- 
tion? Intended  as  a  means  for  building  up 
character,  and  developing  our  higher  nature — 
in  a  word,  as  one  of  the  conditions  of  our 
heirship  with  Christ,  ^'that  we  may  also  he 
glorified  together  ?  " 

And  what  a  remarkable  testimony  of  the 
Holy  Spirit  Is  that  which  says,  ^'It  became 
him,  for  whom  are  all  things,  and  by  whom 
are  all  things.  In  bringing  many  sons  unto 
glory,  to  make  the  Captain  of  their  salvation 


190  THE   LESSONS   OF   SORROW. 

perfect   through  sufferings."     And  If  It  were 
necessary  that  Christ  should  suffer  In  order  to 
become  perfectly  fitted  for  the  work  to  which 
the  Father  appointed  him,  can  you  expect,  my 
afflicted  friend,    to   be   perfect   In   all  things 
without  suffering  ?     Can  you  spare  the  lessons 
of  sorrow  which  it  was  needful  the  Son  of 
God  should  learn,  preparatory  to  his  complete 
consecration  ?    Are  you  already  so  trained  and 
strong  In  spirit  that  you  can  spring  at  once 
to    the    loftiest    height    of    heavenly    exalta- 
tion, without  passing  through  the  dark  valley 
marked  by  the  bleeding  feet  of  Jesus  ?     Ah, 
no  —  you,  and  all  of  us,  need  the  discipline  of 
sorrow  and  suffering  to  fit  us  for  the  great 
work  of  life ;  to  shape  Into  symmetrical  pro- 
portions   the    moral    and    spiritual    elements 
which  make  up  a  truly  divine  character. 

And  It  Is  one  of  the  first  lessons  which  sor- 
row teaches,  that  life  is  not  merely  happiness, 
in  the  material  definition  of  the  term,  but 
virtue,  usefulness,  character  In  its  largest  and 
best    meaning;    character    as   It    appears    in 


THE   LESSONS   OF   SORROW.  191 

Christ ;  as  tlie  symbol  of  all  that  is  gentle, 
generous,  self-sacrificing  and  divine.  This  is 
the  great  end  of  our  being ;  and  it  is  for  this 
that  evil  is  mixed  with  good,  that  the  shadow 
of  disappointment  so  often  falls  athwart  the 
pathway  of  our  enjoyments,  that  our  smiles 
are  sometimes  so  swiftly  veiled  in  the  mist 
of  tears.  Afflictions,  losses,  bereavements, 
death,  are  the  Lord's  angels  in  disguise,  lead- 
ing us  up  the  heights  of  celestial  perfection 
and  glory.  Through  them  we  learn  to  con- 
c[uer  our  weaknesses,  to  lift  our  hopes  and 
desires  out  of  the  dust  of  our  earthly  life,  and 
to  set  the  spirit  and  its  aspirations  above  the 
passions  and  demands  of  the  flesh ;  till  at 
last  we  come  to  feel  with  the  apostles  that, 
**  though  our  outward  man  perish,  yet  the 
inward  man  is  renewed  day  by  day  —  For  our 
light  affliction,  which  is  but  for  a  moment, 
worketh  for  us  a  far  more  exceeding  and  eter- 
nal weight  of  glory ;  while  we  look  not  at  the 
things  which  are  seen,  but  at  the  things  which 
are  not  seen :  for  the  thino^s  which  are  seen 


192  THE   LESSONS   OF   SOEEOW. 

are  temporal,  but  the  things  which  are  not 
seen  are  eternal.  For  we  know  that  if  our 
earthly  house  of  this  tabernacle  were  dissolved, 
we  have  a  building  of  God,  an  house  not 
made  with  hands,  eternal  in  the  heavens." 

O  child  of  sorrow  1  O  sad  and  weary  suf- 
ferer !  what  are  all  your  transient  griefs  com- 
pared with  tliis  glorious  issue?  And  why 
should  you  faint,  or  murmur,  that  you  must 
for  a  little  sow  the  seed  in  tears,  if  this 
be  the  heavenly  fruitage  they  bear?  Why 
should  you  accuse  the  Father,  and  think  that 
discipline  severe  which  it  is  in  your  power 
to  tui'n  into  faith  and  hohness  and  spirituality  ? 

If  always  on  the  thoins  my  feet  must  tread, 
And  heavy  clouds  hang  darkly  o'er  my  head  ; 
If  all  the  sunshine  from  my  life  depart, 
And  cold,  gray  ashes  be  upon  my  heart ; 
If  all  my  hopes,  like  swift-winged  birds,  must  fly, 
And  every  flower  of  promise  droop  and  die  ; 
If  always  through  a  mist  of  gathering  tears 
My  eyes  watch  sadly  for  the  coming  years  ; 
Oh,  Father,  when  Death's  river  I've  passed  o'er, 
And  my  feet  stand  upon  the  further  shore, 
Shall  not  Thy  seal  upon  my  forehead  be, 
•'  Perfect  through  suffering,"  purified  by  Thee  ? 


.  II. 

0f  Wmbnx. 


Wilt  thou  not  visit  me  ? 
The  plant  beside  me  feels  thy  gentle  devr ; 

Each  blade  of  grass  I  see , 
From  thy  deep  earth  its  quickening  moisture  drew. 

0  Lord  !    I  need  thy  love 
More  than  the  flower  the  dcvr,  or  grass  the  rain  ; 

Come  like  thy  Holy  Dove, 
And  let  me  in  thy  sight  rejoice  to  live  again. 

HERE  is  no  experience  so  dreary  and 
desolate,  and  none  so  full  of  promise 
and  hope,  as  that  which,  for  the  first 
time,  reveals  to  us  our  spiritual  poyerty,  and 
the  need  we  have  of  the  bread  of  God,  the 
heavenly  manna  which  the  Gospel  provides 
for  the  hungry  soul.  Who  has  not  at  times 
felt  weary  with  himself,  dissatisfied  with  his 
13 


194  THE  soul's  hunger  and 

present  condition  of  mind  and  heart,  deeply 
conscious  tliat  lie  has  not  lived  as  wisely  and 
truly  as  he  should?  that  he  has  suffered  the 
world,  its  gains,  and  pleasures,  and  honors, 
to  sweep  through  his  soul  like  a  flood,  bearing 
out  from  it  all  thought  and  love  of  God? 
engulfing  in  the  wild  rush  of  mviddy  waters 
faith  and  prayer,  mercy  and  purity,  con- 
science, truth,  all  the  tenderness  of  his  heart, 
and  all  the  spiritual  beauty  with  which  God 
had  fitted  up  his  soul  in  the  beginning?  Who 
does  not  feel,  wlien  all  this  passes  before  him 
as  with  the  swiftness  and  omnipresence  of  a 
dying  man's  thought,  that  he  has  been  a  trai- 
tor to  God,  and  to  the  noblest  dignities  of 
his  nature  ?  and,  half  trembling,  for  the  con- 
sequences of  this  high  treason  to  his  soul,  and 
greatly  sorrowful  for  Iiis  cold  and  hard  ingrat- 
itude to  the  good  God  who  has  loved  him 
through  all  this  with  so  patient  a  love  —  who 
does  not  feel  springing  up  within  him  the 
prayer  of  regret  and  penitence  ? 

Without    question   this  has   sometime  been 


THE  BREAD  OF  HEAVEN.  195 

tlie  experience  of  all  who  read  this.  And 
cspeciallj,  does  this  revelation  of  unworthi* 
ness,  thi^  dissatisfaction  and  unrest,  come 
upon  them  after  some  great  sorrow  or  bereave- 
ment has  fallen  on  them ;  or  when  Death  has 
suddenly  struck  down  some  dear  companion 
or  friend,  and  the  bolt  seems  scarcely  to  have, 
missed  them.  Then  this  discontent  with  them- 
selves and  the  life  they  are  living,  then  this 
home-sickness  comes  upon  them  with  over- 
mastering power  —  as  if  a  long-forgotten 
voice,  all  at  once,  swept  up  from  the  pasty 
calling  them  tenderly  and  with  the  entreating, 
lino:erino:  accents  of  childhood  :  *  *  O  come  back 
from  your  long  wanderings  from  the  Father — 
think  of  his  love  for  you,  of  what  he  calls  you 
to,  and  break  from  the  spell  which  holds  you 
in  bondage  to  what  is  so  unworthy  of  you ; 
which  keeps  you  back  from  the  nobler  life  you 
are  capable  of,  from  the  high  paths  which  lead 
up  to  the  companionship  of  angels  ! " 

I  think  we  have  all  heard  these  voices  which 
call  us  back  to  what  we  were,  or  forward  to 


19 G  THE  SOUL'S  HUNGEE  AjS^D 

what  Ave  may  be :  and  have  felt  tliis  home- 
sickness, this  longing  after  a  more  righteous 
life,  after  something  we  have  not  —  and  pre- 
eminently so,  when  the  shadow  of  a  great 
affliction  is  over  us.  Now  to  this  condition  of 
heart,  this  experience  of  sorrow,  this  hunger 
of  the  soul  in  grief,  the  gospel,  in  its  fulness, 
brings  its  word  of  invitation  and  encourage- 
ment. *' Blessed  are  they  that  hunger  and 
thirst  after  righteousness,  for  they  shall  be 
filled."  In  the  quickening  truths  of  the  gos- 
pel is  found  precisely  what  he  wants  who  finds 
himself  in  this  frame  of  mind ;  who  feels  the 
lonc^-slumberino:  affections  of  his  heart  now 
weakening  into  life,  and  cr^^ing  aloud  for  food, 
for  something  which  shall  supply  their  clam- 
orous wants.  Here,  let  me  say  to  all  such, 
here  in  the  divine  doctrines  and  precepts  of 
Jesus  is  found  that  heavenly  manna,  that 
bread  of  God,  wliich  alone  can  answer  to  the 
call  of  this  mighty  famine  of  the  soul.  Here 
are  the  wells  of  living  water,  of  which  if  you 
drink,  you  will  thirst  no  more  forever. 


THE  BREAD  OF  HEAVEN.  197 

Come  to  the  gospel  and  you  shall  find,  as 
no  interpreter  can  tell  you,  what  is  the  fulness 
of  its  blessing.  Arise  now,  and  shake  the 
dust  of  the  world  from  your  sandals,  and  put 
on  the  beautiful  garments  of  the  spirit,  and 
God  shall  give  you  welcome.  Set  your  face 
towards  the  Father's  house,  where  there  is 
bread  enough  and  to  spare ;  and  the  devour- 
ing hunger  of  your  heart  shall  be  ministered 
to,  the  fatted  calf  shall  be  killed,  and  there 
shall  be  joy  over  you  as  of  one  lost  but  found 
again  —  dead  once,  but  now  alive  forevermore. 

If  this  come  to  any  who  have  heard  these 
voices,  who  have  seen  a  w^hite  hand  beckoning 
them  away  to  the  cool  fountains  of  the  gospel, 
I  would  entreat  them  to  follow  it,  till  they 
come  to  the  waters  of  life.  If  any  experience 
this  hunGjerins;  and  era  vino;  for  a  truer  and 
holier  life  than  they  are  finding  in  the  dusty 
streets,  in  the  marts  of  trafiSc,  in  the  sharp 
selfishness  of  gain-getting,  let  me  say  to  them, 
Come,  O  my  brothers,  come  to  the  gospel,  to 
the  faith,  and  love,  'and  prayer,  which  wait  to 


198  THE  soul's  hunger  and 

bless  you,  and  to  bestow  a  happiness  that  will 
fill  the  void  of  your  soul.  The  life  of  which, 
now  and  then,  in  your  better  moments,  you 
catch  dim  glimpses,  is  real  and  not  a  delusion 
or  a  dream.  The  majesty  and  goodness  of 
God,  the  worth  of  truth,  the  beauty  of  holi- 
ness, the  sweet  peace  of  an  unaccusing  con- 
science, the  royal  dignity  of  a  Christian  life, 
and  the  sublime  triumph  of  the  Christian's 
death ;  the  example  of  Christ,  his  great  Ee- 
demption,  the  victory  of  good  over  every  form 
of  evil  —  these  which  are  the  bread  of  heaven, 
and  the  fulness  of  the  gospel  blessing,  these 
will  meet  the  yearnings  of  your  heart,  will 
feed  its  deep  hunger,,  and  show  you  that  there 
is  a  life  —  O  how  much  more  divine  and 
august  than  that  which  is  lived  only  among 
banks  and  railroads,  ships  and  merchandise  — 
a  life  in  which  the  soul,  when  these  shall  have 
perished  in  the  "wreck  of  matter  and  the 
crush  of  worlds,"  shall  still  unfold  in  ever 
new  and  wondrous  beauty  and  power. 

0  then,  my  bereaved  and  sorrowing  friend. 


THE  BREAD  OF  HEAVEN.  199 

let  this  death  which  has  come  so  near  to  you, 
bring  you  into  closer  relations  with  these  great 
spiritual  realities.  Let  your  soul  embrace 
them  in  a  living  faith,  and  appropriate  the 
blessing  to  itself;  and  ere  long  it  will  rejoice 
in  the  new  meaning  of  Christ's  words  :  **  I  am 
the  bread  of  life ;  he  that  cometh  to  me  shall 
never  hunger,  and  he  that  belleveth  on  me 
shall  never  thirst."  Let  this  bereavement 
consecrate  your  thoughts  and  affections  to 
higher  aims  and  holler  communions ;  let  the 
life  immortal  to  which  your  beloved  has  been 
translated,  become  a  familiar  theme  to  mind 
and  heart ;  and  by  and  by  you  will  find  the 
space  between  earth  and  heaven  bridged  over, 
and  the  glorified  spirits  will  pass  to  and  fro 
bringing  blessings  to  your  soul,  as  the  angels 
passed  over  the  shining  ladder  of  Jacobs 
dream. 

Is  a  mighty  famine  now 

In  thy  heart  and  in  thy  soul 
Discontent  upon  thy  brow  ? 

Turn  thee,  God  Mrill  make  thee  whole. 


III. 

imtglj  S^ribiilutioii  into  lljg 
Jiiitfliram, 


Lead  us,  0  Father  !   to  Thy  heaVenly  rest, 
However  rough  and  steep  the  path  may  be, 

Through  joy  or  sorrow,  as  Thou  deemest  best, 
Until  our  lives  are  perfected  in  Thee. 

@^fF  it  were  left  to  us,  without  doubt  we 
51)  should  so  order  our  life  on  earth  that  it 
"^ —  would  be  all  glad  and  beautiful,  bright 
skies  and  a  green  earth,  waving  forests,  and 
running  streams,  and  lovely  landscapes,  No 
clouds  should  come  between  us  and  the  sun, 
no  storms  shoidd  sweep  over  our  path ;  no 
disappointments  nor  griefs  should  come  to  us  ; 
and  sickness  and  death,  and  the  lone  house- 
hold and  the  long-sorrowing  heart,  should  be 


THROUGH  TRIBULATION,  ETC.  201 

strangers  to  us  and  to  ours.  And  so  life 
should  be  to  us  a  pleasant  and  merry  holiday ; 
and  we,  like  the  butterfly  or  the  humming- 
bird, with  bright  plumage  flashing  in  the  sun, 
would  g(\  dancing  from  flower  to  flower,  stop- 
ping only  long  enough  to  gather  the  honey, 
and  rejoice  in  the  beauty  that  welcomed  us 
from  all  sides. 

So  should  we  make  life,  if  God  would  yield 
to  our  vain  prayers,  and  sufler  our  will  to  be 
done.  And  were  it  so,  how  worthless  would 
life  be  to  us,  and  how  worthless  ourselves 
also.  It  is  not  thus  that  we  p-et  to  be  strons: 
and  worthy  of  God.  The  butterfly  revels  for 
a  season  amid  beauty  and  fragrance,  but  per- 
ishes when  the  winter  comes  and  the  storm. 
But  the  eagle  bravely  struggles  with  the  tem- 
pest, rises  above  it,  and  looks  the  burning  sun 
in  the  face  with  an  unflinching  eye.  So  is  it 
with  us.  Not  by  the  butterfly  life,  but  by  the 
eagle's,  we  rise  up  above  the  storm  and  the 
darkness ;  and  the  soul,  with  the  keen  and 
strong  vision  wliich  it  has  gotten  through  suf- 


202  TIIROUGn   TRIBULATION 

fering  and  faith,  is  able  to  behold  God  and  hi3 
angels  face  to  face.  It  is  only  through  this 
discipline  appointed  of  the  Father,  that  we 
can  be  weaned  from  earth  and  its  influences, 
and  brought  into  communion  with  the  infinite 
and  the  eternal,  and  the  heart  made  to  re- 
spond to,  and  rest  in,  the  blessed  truths  of  the 
gospel. 

And  this,  after  we  shall  have  reasoned  as 
we  may,  and  prayed  as  we  may  —  this  very 
tribulation  and  moral  training  which  it  is  so 
diflftcult  to  accept  at  God's  hand,  is  the  great- 
est. Is  the  best  thing  of  all  for  us.  Not  to 
urge  that  it  is  so  since  God  who  is  wisest  and 
best  has  so  ordered  it,  we  may,  if  we  will 
patiently  and  with  a  teachable  disposition  con- 
sider it,  gather  this  important  truth  for  our- 
selves, and  so  shall  it  do  us  greater  good. 

Who  are  they  who  have  wrought  out  great 
blesslnsfs  for  our  race?  who  have  brouo^ht 
forth  good  unto  their  fellows,  and  have  left  on 
every  spot  where  they  trod  a  greenness  and 
frao'rance  which   shall  never  die    out?      Not 


INTO   THE   KINGDOM.  203 

they  who  have  been  nursed  in  the  lap  of  lux- 
ury and  ease  —  not  they  whose  life  has  been 
sunny,  and  their  path  amid  fresh  flowers  and 
over  velvet  fields.  Not  these  ;  but  they  who 
have  been  born  under  clouds ;  who  have 
grown  up  amid  want,  and  discouragements, 
and  tribulations;  who  have  toiled  up  the 
mountain  paths  of  life,  amid  wild  ravines  and 
beetling  crags,  facing  wind  and  tempest,  amid 
struggles  and  perils,  till,  standing  upon  the 
loftiest  summit,  bathed  in  sunlight,  they  see 
and  hear  the  storm  through  which  they  have 
passed  raging  far  down  below  them.  These 
are  they  whom  the  world  calls  benefactors, 
and  whom  God,  having  tried,  has  chosen  for 
his  special  work.  These  are  they  to  whom, 
having  passed  through  much  tribulation,  the 
gates  of  the  kingdom  of  heaven  are  flung  wide 
open,  and  free  entrance  given  to  its  glorious 
rest. 

Paul,  though  when  elected  as  a  servant  of 
God's  truth  and  salvation  he  had  hitherto 
lived  amid  wealth  and  splendor,  was  trained 


204  THROUGH    TRIBULATION 

to  liis  Vv^ork  in  the  school  of  suffering,  and, 
taking  his  life  in  his  hand,  went  forth  amid 
perils  by  land  and  sea,  among  the  heathen 
and  false  brethren,  amid  hunger  and  thirst 
and  nakedness,  stripes  and  imprisonments, 
till  at  last  he  is  able  to  exclaim,  "We  glory 
in  tribulations,"  and  to  lay  down  his  life  for 
the  cause  of  God  and  humanity.  And  it  was 
from  the  midst  of  agony  in  the  garden  that 
Christ  exclaims,  "Not  as  I  will  but  as  thou 
wilt."  And  it  was  from  the  cross,  beneath 
the  cloud  of  its  awful  suffering,  that  the  sub- 
lime prayer  for  his  murderers  went  forth, 
"Father,  forgive  them."  So  has  it  always 
been.  The  noblest  examples  of  faith,  the 
most  touching  exhibitions  of  love,  have  had 
their  birth  in  sorrow  and  suffering,  have  come 
forth  like  molten  gold  from  the  furnace  of  fire. 
So  in  all  time  the  great,  the  useful  have  been 
brought  up  in  the  school  of  trial  and  adver- 
sity. Their  weaknesses,  their  vain  longings, 
the  influences  of  the  world  and  the  things  that 
are  in  it,  have  given  way  before  the  power  of 


INTO    THE    KINGDOM.  205 

God's  discipline,  and  in  tlieir  place  have  come 
strength  and  courage,  and  faith,  and  love, 
and  heavenly-mindedness. 

And  do  we  not  all  need  this  discipline  to 
correct  what  is  evil  in  us,  and  strengthen  what 
is   o'ood?     Have  we  not   all  weaknesses   and 
earthly  longings,  and  worldliness   and   sin  to 
overcome,  before  we  can  stand  by  the  side  of 
Jesus,  of  Paul  and  John?    Have  we  not  need, 
as  well  as  others,  to  pass  through  tribulation, 
before  we  can  enter  into  the  kingdom  of  God, 
and  take   our  place  with  Abraham  and  Isaac, 
with  James  and  Peter,  and  the  noble  army  of 
m^artyrs?     Ah,  yes;  we   chug  to   the  earth; 
we  cling  to  the  things   of  the  world,  we  give 
to  them  our  first  and  warmest  love ;  we  live 
as  though  this  were  our  home,  as  if  here  only 
were    the    proper   objects    of   our   affections. 
And  these  blessings  and  gifts — they  are  ours, 
and  if  taken  from  us  in  our  unworthiness  we 
complain,   we   have   been   wronged,    and  we 
rebel  against  the  better  wisdom  of  God. 
From  all  tliis  we  need  to  be  drawn  away,  for 


206  THROUGH   TRIBULATION 

while  in  this  state  heaven  is  afar  off,  and  we 
know  not  God.  While  in  this  state  there  is  no 
real  joy  or  peace  —  we  know  nothing  of  the 
higher  life  of  the  soul,  nor  of  the  kingdom 
which  can  now  only  be  reached  through  much 
tribulation.  And  so  the  Father,  who  knoweth 
all  this,  layeth  his  hand  upon  us,  and  bringeth 
us  into  affliction,  leadeth  us  through  rough 
places  and  dark,  into  the  valley  of  suffering  and 
humiliation.  Disappointment,  loss  of  prop- 
erty, the  desertion  of  friends,  crushed  hopes, 
a  desolate  heart,  sickness  and  death  come  to 
us  one  after  another  to  lay  their  burthens 
upon  us.  The  beauty  of  life  departs  ;  the  ties 
that  bound  us  to  it  have  successively  been 
broken.  Of  those  that  love  us,  more  are  in 
heaven  than  here.  Old  familiar  voices  are 
heard  no  more.  The  days  have  come  when 
we  say  sadly,  **We  have  no  pleasure  in 
them ; "  the  shadows  have  fallen  upon  the 
bright  places  where  we  have  stood,  and  by 
and  by  the  dark  night  gathers  about  us,  and 
we  are  alone  I 


INTO   THE   KINGDOM.  207 

And  now  our  deliverance  is  at  hand.  God 
is  not  afar.  The  impatient  and  murmuring 
heart  is  subdued  into  meekness.  We  are 
chastened  into  submission,  and  with  tearful 
eye,  and  a  contrite  and  broken  spirit,  we  pray 
as  we  never  prayed  before.  Through  the  trib- 
ulation and  suflfering  which  the  Father  has 
wisely  and  mercifully  ordered,  we  are  getting 
forth  from  the  night  into  day  again  —  we  are 
drawing  near  to  the  kingdom  of  heaven,  and 
its  refreshing  air  comes  with  a  cooling  power 
upon  the  burning  brow,  and  its  sweet  peace 
nestles  down  upon  the  weary  and  throbbi|ig 
heart  —  and  it  is  still  —  at  home  with  God. 

Patiently  then,  and  with  a  sweet  submis- 
sion, let  us  bear  whatsoever  the  Father  may 
lay  upon  us.  He  is  wiser  than  we,  and  in 
this  way  seeks  to  perfect  our  spiritual  educa- 
tion, and  to  bring  us  forth  into  the  infinitely 
beautiful  and  blessed  life  of  faith  and  trust. 
Let  us  remember  that  some  of  the  most  fra- 
grant flowers  that  we  ever  gather,  are  taken 
from  the   midst   of  thorns,    and    often   with 


208  THEOUGII   TRIBULATION 

lacerated  and  bleedino:  hands.  Our  dearest 
treasures  always  are  bought  at  the  highest 
price,  and  mostly  are  dearest  because  of  the 
price  we  pay ;  for  so  are  they  associated  with 
memories  that  have  become  sacred  through 
manifold  trials  and  sacrifices.  The  rainbow, 
the  child  of  beauty,  and  the  prophet  of  hope 
and  trust,  comes  not  without  the  rain.  It 
spans  the  heavens  only  when  the  clouds  are 
there,  and  from  the  bosom  of  the  storm  looks 
forth  upon  us  with  its  placid  smile. 

With  this  great  truth  impressed  upon  thy 
heart,  therefore,  thou  poor  bereaved  one,  go 
forward,  leaving  God  to  do  for  thee  and 
thine  whatever  to  his  infinite  knowledge  and 
never-changing  love  may  seem  best  to  be  done. 
Be  sure  what  he  determines  is  best.  Nothing 
else  will  do  for  thee  so  desirable  and  profitable 
a  work  as  this  trial  to  which  God  has  called 
thee.  It  may  be  severe  ;  the  draught  may  be 
very  bitter ;  but  O,  drink  it  to  the  last,  though 
thy  hand  tremble  and  thy  lip  quiver.  It  w^ill 
do  thee  good,   and  thou  wilt  bless  him   for 


INTO   THE   KINGDOM.  209 

it  by  and  by  from  thy  heart  of  hearts. 
Thou  hast  need  of  the  lessons  thou  art  learn- 
ing. Thou  hast  found  thine  own  strength 
to  be  weakness,  and  now  thou  wilt  seek  to 
stand  in  God's  streno^th.  Thou  hast  thou^^ht 
of  life  only,  as  if  it  were  forever ;  now  thou 
wilt  think  of  death,  and  learn  to  look  it  in 
the  face  without  fear.  Thou  hast  had  thy 
hopes  and  treasures  all  on  the  earth ;  thou 
wilt  have  them  in  heaven  now,  and  the  way 
will  be  shorter.  Be  of  cheerful  heart  then, 
and  faint  not,  for  the  Lord  is  thy  refuge,  and 
he  will  comfort  thee. 

"  When  Israel  from  his  place  of  shame, 
The  Egyptian  land  of  bondage,  came, 

By  doubt  and  terror  bowed; 
Tho'  legions  on  her  path  did  pour, 
And  trackless  waters  rolled  before, 
God  led  the  host  in  safety  o'er, 

By  pillared  fire  and  cloud. 

"  So  in  man's  pilgrimage  below. 
In  all  his  wanderiag  and  woe. 

See  God's  sustaining  hand ; 
His  winds  breathe  o'er  the  troubled  tide, 
His  words  the  opposing  waves  divide, 
He  leads,  a  never-failing  guide, 

On  to  the  better  land." 

14 


IV. 


And  thou,  who  o'er  thy  friend's  low  bier 

Sheddest  the  bitter  drops  like  rain. 
Know  that  a  brighter,  happier  sphere 

Shall  give  him  to  thy  arms  again. 
For  God  hath  marked  each  anguished  day, 

And  numbered  every  secret  tear  ; 
And  heaven's  long  age  of  bliss  shall  pay 

For  all  his  children  suffer  here. 

^HAT  a  blessed  heritage  of  strength 
and  trust,  of  peace  and  comfort,  we 
have  in  the  gospel  of  our  Lord. 
What  help  to  us  in  our  weakness,  what  a 
soothing  balm  to  the  lacerated  heart,  when 
the  objects  of  our  affection  are  taken  from  us, 
to  know  that  they  are,  by  the  mercy  of  God, 
lifted  into  a  hio'her  and  more  blessed  life  than 


r 


PEACE   IN  BELIEVING.  211 

tliey  could  ever  have  attained  to  on  earth. 
How  it  lightens  our  burthen  to  feel  assured 
that  much  as  we  lose  by  their  death  and  de- 
parture, they  gain  infinitely  more  than  we 
lose.  We  love  them;  and  that  it  is  why  it 
is  so  hard  to  part  with  them,  why  our  sorrow 
is  so  sharp  and  keen  —  we  love  them ;  and 
that  is  the  reason  why  we  struggle  against 
our  tears,  knowing  that  they  are  glorified  in 
heaven.  It  is  for  ourselves  only  that  we 
grieve,  not  for  them ;  and  when  we  think  of 
all  the  evils  they  have  escaped,  and  of  all  the 
joys  they  have  won,  we  feel  that  it  would  be 
selfishness  to  wish  them  back  again. 

We  cannot  be  indifferent  to  the  loss  of  their 
society,  to  our  loneliness,  to  the  vacancy  in 
our  hearts,  to  the  silence  and  shadow  which 
brood  over  the  places  they  filled  in  our  homes. 
The  most  perfected  Christian  on  earth  must 
mourn  when  the  precious  jewels  of  liis  house- 
hold are  taken  away,  when  the  objects  of  his 
most  tender  regard  are  shut  from  his  sight  in 
the  cold,  dark  grave.     God  knows  that  we  are 


212  TEACE    IN   BELIEVING. 

of  tlie  dust,  and  not  of  iron.  He  knows  tlie 
well-springs  of  human  affection  in  our  hearts, 
and  the  .pain  with  which  w^e  see  a  great  hope 
crushed,  or  a  great  joy  leave  us.  He  does 
not  therefore  tell  us  that  we  must  not  sorrow, 
but  only  that  we  should  not  sorrow  as  those 
who  are  without  hope. 

'<Our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  himself,  and  God, 
even  our  Father,  wdiich  hath  loved  us,  hath 
given  us  everlasting  consolation  and  good 
hope  through  grace,"  that  we  might  be  strong 
in  the  day  of  bereavement.  The  resurrection 
of  Christ  has  shown  us  that  the  dear  ones 
who  leave  us  "are  not  lost,  but  gone  before" 
to  the  life  immortal ;  that  the  body  only  re- 
turns to  the  dust  whence  it  came,  but  the 
spirit  to  God  who  gave  it !  This  is  the  Chris- 
tian's hope  and  faith  respecting  the  departed  ; 
and  he  finds  comfort,  joy  even,  in  his  sorrow, 
persuaded  that  the  dead,  the  beloved  one  who 
has  passed  "over  the  river,"  has  gained  the 
crown  of  immortal  life  and  joy.  He  can  say 
therefore,  in  truth. 


PEACE   IN   BELIEVING,  213 

'•  All  thy  toils  and  cares  are  over  ; 

Weary  pilgrim  take  thy  rest ; 
God  in  mercy  hath  recalled  thee 

To  thy  place  among  the  blest ; 
And  though  now  we  miss  and  mourn  thee, 

Ours  are  not  deepairing  tears  ; 
Wtll  'we  know  we  all  shall  meet  thee, 

In  a  few  revolving  years." 

O  how  blessed,  liow  beautiful  is  the  Chris- 
tian faith  to  the  mourner  who  bends  over  the 
dying,  or  stands  at  the  grave  of  one  who  has 
been  loved  with  deepest  tenderness.  What  a 
celestial  light  is  sent  down  into  the  valley  of 
death  by  the  glad  promise  of  the  gospel,  the 
promise  that  love  is  immortal,  that  the  affec- 
tions which  bind  us  so  strongly  together  here 
cannot  be  gathered  into  the  grave,  cannot  die 
at  all.  What  peace  and  resignation  in  the 
thought,  that  they  who  leave  us  live  on  as 
though  they  had  not  left  us, — nay,  do  now 
live  more  truly  than  ever  before,  in  a  world 
the  glories  and  the  joys  of  which  eye  hath  not 
seen,  nor  the  heart  conceived. 

The  transformation  which  lifts  the  painfully 
crawling  worm  from  the  dust  of  the  earth  into 


214  PEACS   IN   BELIEVING. 

the  pure  air  above  it ;  and,  giving  it  tlie  light 
and  gorgeous  wings  of  the  butterfly,  sends  it 
glancing  through  the  sunny  atmosphere,  float- 
ing amid  beauty  and  fragrance  and  glad- 
ness,—  this  is  nothing  compared  to  the  glo- 
rious and  heavenly  change  which  death  and 
the  resurrection  open  to  the  soul,  when  the 
bod}^  falls  away  from  it,  and  it  rises  out  of 
earthly  life,  on  angel  vvdngs,  into  the  splendor 
and  joy  of  the  celestial !  We  cannot  estimate 
the  greatness  or  blessedness  of  it  by  any  pow- 
ers of  arithmetic,  by  any  severity  of  logic. 
Faith  only  can  approach  the  wealth  of  its 
glory,  and  even  with  this  we  see  as  through  a 
glass  darkly ;  and  it  is  only  when  we  shall 
have  reached  the  heavenly  land  itself,  and  be- 
come partakei'S,  that  we  can  understand  how 
great  is  the  heritage  of  bliss  to  which  our  loved 
ones  go,  wheii  death  leads  them  avv-ay  from  us. 
What  a  power,  then,  in  the  gospel  to  com- 
fort us,  and  what  a  soft  light  rests  on  the 
graves  of  the  departed.  We  may  sometimes 
go   out  to  them,  and  wc  may  weep  even,  but 


PEACE   IN  BELIEVING.  21.5 

the  tears  of  hope,  and  of  joy  even,  for  the 
glory  the  dead  have  gone  to,  mhigle  with  the 
tears  of  sorrow  for  our  own  bereavement. 
They  are  not  lost  to  us ;  they  live,  and  love 
us  still.  They  have  gone  to  the  spirit  land 
only  a  little  before  us;  and  they  do  not 
forget  us,  but  expect  our  coming.  There 
they  rejoice, 

"  In  the  broad  fields  of  heaven, 

In  the  immortal  bowers. 
By  life's  clear  river  dwelling, 

Amid  undying  flowers,  — 
There  hosts  of  beauteous  spirits, 

Fair  children  of  the  earth, 
Linked  in  bright  bands  celestial, 

Sing  of  their  human  birth. 

•'  They  sing  of  earth  and  heaven,  — 

Divinest  voices  raise 
To  God,  their  gracious  Father, 

Who  called  them  to  the  skies  ; 
They  are  all  there,  —  in  heaven,  — 

Safe,  safe  and  sweetly  blest ; 
No  cloud  of  sin  can  shadow 

Their  bright  and  holy  rest." 

Blessed  be  God  for  this  blissful  assurance 
of  faith,  which  takes  the  sting  from  death,  and 
illumines    the   gloom   of  the  grave  with  the 


216  PEACE   IX    BELIEVING. 

morning  light  of  the  resurrection ;  and  within 
it  shows  us  our  beloved  rejoicing  in  their  new, 
immortal  life  ;  glad  forevermore  in  *  the  smiles 
of  God ! 

Blessed  be  the  Saviour  who  has  shown  us 
by  his  own  death  and  triumph  that  death  is 
conquered,  that  all  whom  it  has  separated 
shall  be  reunited  in  the  mansions  above. 
Blessed  be  his  name  for  the  dear  promise  that, 

"  Nc  lingering  hope,  no  parting  sigh, 

Our  future  meeting  knows  — 
But  love  beams  forth  from  every  eye, 

And  hope  immortal  grows,  — 
The  sacred  hope,  the  blissful  hope, 

Which  his  rich  grace  has  given  ; 
The  hope  when  days  and  years  are  passed, 

We  all  shall  meet  in  heaven  !  " 


-K4#»»>- 


g^aff^  0f  Pusbanir  ox  WixiL 


♦'•  Who  never  mourned,  hath  never  known  what  treasures  grief 
reveals  — 
The  sympathies  that  humanize,  the  tenderness  that  heals  — 
The  power  to  look  within  the  vail  and  learn  the  heavenly 

lore  — 
The  key-word  of  life's  mysteries,  so  dark  to  us  before." 

^^^HAT  a  desolation  there  is  in  the  very 
^  L  sound  of  this  title,  the  sound  which 
it  brings  to  the  heart  rather  than  the 
ear  !  When  the  Wife  lies  cold  and  still  within 
the  coffin,  or  is  carried  out  from  the  house 
that  she  has  made  a  heaven  on  earth  —  the 
dear  being  who  has  from  the  first  commanded 
all  our  thoughts  and  aiFections,  who  has  been 
the  centre  of  our  aims  and  ambitions,  the 
thought  of  whom  has  made  our  heaviest  toil 


218  DEATH  OF  HUSBAXD  OK  WIFE. 

light,  and  cliiven  a, way  all  weariness,  and 
renewed  onr  youth  as  the  eagle's — O  when 
she  is  dead,  Tvheii  this  terrible  fact,  so  hard  for 
us  to  master  at  iirst,  breaks  in  upon  us  in  all 
its  agonizing  reality,  it  is  as  if  the  sun  had 
been  blotted  from  out  the  heavens,  and  uni- 
versal night  had  fallen  on  the  world.  What 
is  there  now  left  for  us  !  what  happiness  is 
possible  in  which  she  has  no  part?  What  is 
home  without  her  who  gave  it  all  its  worth 
and  joy,  whose  virtues  adorned  it,  vfhose 
smile  was  its  light,  and  her  presence  its  life  ? 

When  the  labor  or  the  business  of  the  day 
is  over,  how  painful  and  dismal,  beyond  ex- 
pression, the  return  to  the  domestic  sanctuary 
where  she  was  the  idol,  the  sacred  object  of 
our  worship  ;  and  wandering  from  room  to 
room,  to  know  and  feel  that  the  temple  is 
deserted,  and  that  we  are  alone  —  alone  with 
our  sorrow  ! 

There  she  used  to  sit,  nestled  in  that  corner, 
surrounded  with  the  sweet  confusion  of  her 
needle-work,   with   the   implements    and   evi- 


DEATH  OF  PUSBAKD  OK  WIFE.  219 

Llenccs  of  her  pleasing  industry  —  there  are 
her  favorite  books ;  and  there  the  instrument 
over  whose  keys  her  facile  fingers  flew  with 
gTace  and  power,  bringing  out  the  most  deli- 
cious melodies,  kindling  the  soul  at  vrill  with 
devotion  or  delight — everything  is  in  its  place, 
but  the  presiding  spirit,  she  who  gave  life  to 
all,  is  departed  forever.  What  inexpressible 
grief  there  is  in  this  crushing  thought  —  de- 
parted forever,  no  more  to  come  back  to  me, 
no  more  to  welcome  me,  when  the  busy  day 
is  done,  to  this  home  that  was  so  pleasant  to 
us,  but  novv^  so  desolate  to  me  ! 

So  feels  and  speaks  the  stricken  sufferer 
whose  second  self  has  gone  down  to  the  grave, 
and  left  him  to  complete  the  work,  and  finish 
the  journey  of  life  alone.  And  is  not  all  this 
what  we  might  expect  where  the  blow  has 
lately  fallen,  and  the  wound  is  yet  fresh  and 
bleeding  ?  Is  it  not  the  natural  language  of  a 
bereaved  and  desolate  heart? 

And  so  when  the  wife  is  called  to  part  with 
an  indulgent  and  beloved  Hicsband,      O  the 


220  DEATH  OF  HUSBAND  OR  AVIFE. 

anguish  and  torture  wliicli  come,  when,  bend- 
ing over  the  dying  one,  the  last  convulsive 
breath  is  heaved,  the  last  fluttering  pulse  diea 
out,  and  the  dear  face  settles  down  into  the 
rigidity  of  death. 

And  then  what  hallowed  and  tender  memo- 
ries come  thronging  up  from  the  past.  In 
how  many  thousand  ways  does  her  dreadful 
loss  press  upon  her.  And  how  perpetually, 
as  the  days  and  weeks  go  by,  is  she  reminded 
of  the  happiness  which  was,  but  can  never  be 
again  for  her ;  of  the  many  kindly  words  and 
acts  which  blessed  her  life.  How  affectionate 
and  thoughtful  he  always  was.  How  often 
his  own  patience  and  tender  assiduities  lifted 
off  the  burthen  from  my  heart,  and  soothed 
my  spirit  troubled  with  household  cares, 
or  vexed  with  social  annoyances.  However 
clouded  the  day,  his  coming  made  the  evening 
pleasant  and  cheerful  —  and  we  always  went 
to  our  rest,  the  children  happy  in  so  kind  a 
father,  and  I  thanking  God  in  my  heart  for  so 
loving  a  husband. 


DEATH  OF  HUSBAND  OR  WIFE.  221 

He  was  the  strono^  oak  to  which  I  cluno;  as 
the  vine  clings  to  its  support ;  all  the  tendrils 
of  my  life,  aiFections,  thoughts,  wishes  and 
aims,  twining  closely  around  him.  I  leaned 
upon  him  with  a  sweet  and  welcome  sense  of 
dependence,  confident  that  he  would  shelter 
me  from  all  the  storms  of  life,  and  stand  be- 
tween me  and  all  danger  and  trouble.  There 
was  a  blessed  sense  of  security  in  my  thought 
of  him,  knowing  that  in  every  doubt  and  diffi- 
culty he  would  guide  me,  and  in  my  weakness 
be  to  me  strength  and  courage.  But  all  tliis 
is  now  passed  away  ;  my  heart,  my  hopes,  my 
courage,  are  buried  in  the  grave  with  him,  and 
I  sink  down  helpless,  crying  out  with  the 
Psalmist,  "O  my  God,  my  soul  is  cast  down 
within  me ;  for  all  thy  waves  and  thy  billows 
are  gone  over  me." 

It  would  be  idle  to  say  that  these  feelings 
are  unreasonable  and  wicked.  They  are  nat- 
ural and  inevitable.  The  merciful  God  knows 
this,  knows  that  when  Ave  are  bereaved  in  this 
way,  when  the  beauty  of  our  life  perishes,  we 


222    DEATH  OE  HUSBAND  OR  WIFE. 

must  suffer  and  lament  for  our  loss.  He  does 
not  say  "Sorrow  not;"  but  only  this,  "Sor- 
row not  as  tliose  wlco  are  without  hoiJeJ'  We 
are  not  witliout  liope  ;  not  without  faith,  that 
under  liis  elirection  all  things  come  to  pass  for 
some  wise  and  beneficent  end ;  that  evil  and 
good,  grief  and  joy,  death  and  life,  are  equally 
the  ministers  of  his  mercy.  And  you,  sad 
and  unhappy  mourner,  who  just  now  repeated 
the  anguish  cry  of  the  Psalmist  —  you  should 
have  gone  a  little  farther,  and  heard  him  after- 
ward, from  the  tlceps  of  his  affliction,  lifting 
up  the  sublime  prayer  of  resignation  and 
trust :  ^  'All  thy  waves  and  thy  billows  are 
gone  over  me,  yd  the  Lord  will  command  his 
loving-kindness  in  the  day-time,  and  in  the 
night  his  song  shall  be  with  me,  and  my 
prayer  unto  the  God  of  my  life.  .  .  .  Why 
art  thou  cast  down,  O  my  soul?  and  why  art 
thou  disquieted  within  me  ?  hope  thou  in  God  ; 
for  I  shall  yet  praise  liim,  who  is  the  health 
of  my  countenance  and  my  God." 

This  was  the   faith   of  David  in  the  most 


DEATH  OF  HUSBAND  OR  WIFE.  223 

grievous  trial  of  liis  life ;  and  why  should  it 
not  be  yours  ?  Was  the  Jewish  dispensation 
clearer  than  the  Christian  is  in  regard  to  the 
beneficent  purpose  of  evil  ?  Did  the  Psalmist 
look  at  death  and  the  world  beyond  from  a 
higher  stand-point  than  the  true  disciple  of 
him  who,  ''through  death,  destroyed  death," 
and  "brought  life  and  immortality  to  light?" 
It  is  a  sore  affliction,  this  loss  of  yours ;  but 
then  how  orreat  is  the  comfort  wherewith  God 
comforteth  all  those  who  are  in  any  kind  of 
trouble.     How  precious 

"  The  hope,  the  blissful  hope. 
Which  Jesus'  grace  hath  given  ; 
The  hope  when  days  and  years  are  past, 
We  all  shall  meet  in  heaven." 

Beside,  ought  you  not  to  temper  the  pas- 
sionateness  of  your  grief,  by  remembering  that 
you  knew  all  this  in  the  day  when  you  gave 
your  heart  to  your  beloved.  You  knew  that 
you  were  not  always  to  live  together  on  earth  ; 
that  you  and  your  companion  must  die,  each 
one   at  the  time  appointed,  and  that  one  of 


224  DEATH  OF  HUSBAND  OR  WIFE. 

you  must  die  first.  And  now  tliink  for  a 
little  calmly :  you  know  what  you  who  re- 
main suffer  by  this  separation ;  and  you  be- 
lieve without  doubt  that  it  is  well  with  the 
departed,  that  the  bliss  of  heaven  is  attained. 
Do  you  then  wish  that  you  had  gone  first, 
and  that  your  compamon  had  been  left  to 
suffer  all  the  anguish  which  wrings  your  heart, 
to  experience  the  terrible  loneliness  which  op- 
presses you,  and  to  bear  the  heavy  burthen  of 
life  unblessed  by  the  sweet  sympathy  of  kin- 
dred affection  ?  This  must,  from  the  necessity 
of  the  case,  be  the  lot  of  one  of  you ;  and, 
loving  as  you  do,  if  the  choice  had  been  given 
you,  to  which  would  you  have  assigned  it? 
O  is  it  not  better,  then,  as  God  has  ordered 
it?  When  seen  from  this  point  of  view, 
can  you  not  say,  *'Thy  will,  O  God,  be 
done!"  Since  the  separation  must  come, 
since  one  must  bear  the  sharp  pain  of 
bereavement,  and  walk  in  darkness  and  soli- 
tude, would  you  not  rather  choose  it  foi 
yourself,  than  for  the  object  of  your   affec- 


DEATH  OF  HUSBAND  OR  WIFE.  225 

tion?  Is  not  this  the  magnanimity  of  true, 
unselfish  love  ? 

And  then,  on  the  other  hand,  consider  the 
glory  of  that  translation  which  has  lifted  your 
companion  out  of  the  earthly  into  the  heav- 
enly. Think  not  that  this  is  only  a  kind  effort 
to  comfort  you ;  it  is  the  gTandest  fact  of  the 
Christian  revelation,  this  freedom  and  growth, 
this  immortal  joy  to  which  our  beloved  go 
when  they  pass  *'over  the  river."  And 
surely,  if  our  affection  for  them  is  what  it 
should  be,  wise  and  unselfish,  how  great 
soever  the  loss  to  us,  we  should  rejoice  for 
their  sake.  One  Avho  has  spoken  well  on  this 
point,  says  : — 

*'We  blame  no  one  that  for  his  own  sake 
he  feels  the  pangs  of  separation,  but  we  do 
wonder  that  there  is  no  more  generosity  in  the 
love  which  we  bear  to  our  dear  ones ;  and 
that  the  full  and  glorious  certainties  which 
illumine  their  condition  when  they  have  passed 
beyond  us,  do  not  cast  back  some  light  of  joy 
upon  our  grief!  We  mourn  as  those  who 
15 


226  DEATH  OF  HUSBAKD  OR  WIFE. 

have  no  hope ;  whereas  our  mightiest  griefs 
should  be  imbosomed  in  hope  and  cahn  cer- 
tainties of  joy.  What  copious  tears  we  shed 
because  God  will  bring  up  our  babes  for  us  I 
With  what  frantic  sorrow  do  we  beat  our- 
selves because  our  heart-companions  are  sud- 
denly translated  into  all  honor,  and  nobleness , 
and  purity  J  and  ecstacy  of  joy  I  When  the 
golden  gate  is  opened,  and  our  beloved  onea 
pass  through,  we  may  be  sad  that  we  are  left 
in  the  drear  wilderness,  but  not  that  they  have 
entered  the  city  of  their  coronation  !  If  we 
could  but  break  down  by  our  faith  and  imag- 
ination the  barrier  which  our  senses  interpose ; 
if  we  could  but  walk  the  garden-road,  and 
move  through  the  celestial  air,  beholding  the 
fulfilment  of  the  earthly  promise,  witnessing 
the  perfection  of  whaf  we  know  in  error  and 
confusion ;  if  we  could  but  assure  ourselves  of 
the  lustrous  beauty,  the  glorious  largeness  and 
liberty,  the  wonderful  purity  and  joy  of  those 
whom  God  hath  called  and  crowned  with 
immortality ;    unless  we   were   petrified   with 


DEATH  OF  HUSBAND  OR  WIFE.  227 

selfishness,  we  should  lay  aside  our  sorrow  in 
overmeasure,  and  break  forth  with  thanksgiv- 
ing. Since  only  days  and  weeks  are  between 
us  and  those  who  ha^  e  gone  before,  since  joy 
and  sorrow  alike,  and  the  whole  course  of 
earthly  experiences,  are  bearing  us  straight 
onward  to  the  same  abode,  it  would  seem 
the  very  wantonness  of  unregulated  grief  not 
to  find  consolation  and  patience,  yea,  and 
a  sobered  gladness,  that  we  are  known  in 
heaven  by  our  forerunners  ! " 

The  raouruers  came  at  break  of  day 

Unto  the  garden-sepulchre, 
With  sorrowing  hearts  to  weep  and  pray 

For  him  whom  they  had  buried  there. 
What  radiant  light  dispels  the  gloom  ? 
An  angel  sits  beside  the  tomb  ! 

Then  mourn  we  not  beloved  dead  — 
E'en  while  we  come  to  weep  and  pray. 

The  happy  spirit  far  hath  fled 
To  brighter  realms  of  endless  day  ! 

Immortal  hope  dispels  the  gloom  ; 

An  angel  sits  beside  the  tomb  ! 


VI. 

Comfort  tlj«  Cljilirwn. 


0  comfort  the  little  ones  ;  think  of  their  grief, 

When  Death  bears  the  mother  away  ; 
Forget  thine  own  sorrow  to  bring  them  relief, 

And  teach  the  young  heart  how  to  pray  — 
0  lead  the  poor  lambs  to  the  Shepherd  above, 
And  leave  them  to  rest  in  the  arms  of  his  love. 

fN  reply  to  what  is  said  in  the  preceding 
section,  you  may  ansvver  that  you  are 
thankful  for  the  faith  which  reveals  an 
inheritance  of  liberty  and  joy  for  the  de- 
parted ;  but  that  your  own  loss,  which  is 
heavy  enough,  is  made  doubly  so  by  the  sor- 
row of  dear  children  who  have  been  deprived 
of  a  dear  parent.  Yes,  but  have  not  these 
children  a  claim  upon  you  for  help  and  conso- 
lation ?     Is  it  not  a  duty,  as  far  as  is  in  your 


COMFORT  THE   CHILDREN.  229 

power,  to  master  your  own  sorrow,  that  you 
may  minister  unto  theirs?  They  are  young 
and  helpless  —  perhaps  this  is  their  first  great 
grief.  Their  thoughts  of  God  and  his  provi- 
dence, of  life  and  death,  of  the  present  and 
the  future,  are  not  as  matured  as  yours  ;  their 
faith  is  not  yet  ripened,  and  they  cannot  lean 
upon  it  for  support  and  comfort.  It  is  their 
privilege,  therefore,  to  look  to  the  surviving 
parent  for  that  sweet  and  intelligent  sympath}' 
which  equally  soothes  and  sustains.  Death  is 
a  mystery  to  them  —  and  Heaven  and  the 
spiritual  existence?  they  are  afar  ojfF,  and  lie 
vaguely  in  their  thought.  They  need  the  in- 
struction and  guidance  of  a  parent's  loving 
heart,  that  their  grief  may  be  assuaged,  their 
tears  dried,  and  their  eyes  lifted  toward 
the  realms  of  light.  Comfort  them,  then, 
and  help  to  lift  tlie  shadow  from  their 
hearts,  and  to  lead  them  in  the  way  of  life 
everlasting. 

Is  it  a  Father  who  has   gone  from  them  ? 
Then  for  their  sake,  0  Mother,  control  your 


230  COIMTORT   THE    CHILDREJ^. 

grief,  and  teach  and  console  them  by  hopeful 
words,  by  an  humble  Christian  resignation, 
and  by  lifting  their  thoughts  from  death  to 
the  Life  Immortal,  from  the  temporary  separa- 
tions of  earth  to  the  eternal  re-unions  of 
Heaven.  Inspire  them  with  cheerful  views 
touching  the  discipline  of  sorrow,  the  mission 
of  death,  and  the  glory  and  ineffable  happiness 
of  the  world  beyond  the  river.  Through  this 
bereavement  lead  their  hearts  to  God  and  the 
Saviour,  and  help  them  to  feel  that  they  have 
a  Father  in  heaven,  whose  providential  care 
enfolds  them,  whose  love  blesses  them,  and 
whose  divine  law  is  their  safe  and  sure  road 
to  usefulness,  honor,  and  abiding  peace.  In 
this  way  you  will  comfort  them  and  comfort 
yourself;  you  will  keep  the  head  and  the 
heart  busy  in  the  beautiful  work  of  parental 
culture,  and  soothe  to  rest  tlie  bitter  thoughts 
which  otherwise  will  fling  their  gloom  over  all 
your  life.  And  in  what  way  better  than 
this  can  you  honor  the  memory  of  their 
father,  or  secure  the  loving   smile   of  appro- 


COMFORT    THE    CHILDEEN.  231 

bation  from  the  glorified  spirit  of  your  hus- 
band in  heaven? 

Is  it  a  Mother  of  whom  these  children  have 
been  bereaved?  Ah,  then,  my  brother,  what 
great,  yet  pleasing,  duties  fall  to  your  lot,  if 
you  would  make  good  the  place  of  one  who, 
of  all  others,  is  necessarily  nearest  and  dearest 
to  the  lambs  of  the  flock.  Sorrowfully  is  this 
impressed  upon  you ;  and  you  are  ready  to 
say,  as  dear  as  she  was  to  you,  and  great  as 
is  the  anguish  caused  by  her  death,  that  the 
sharpest  pain  comes  when  you  think  of  the 
children  deprived  of  a  mother,  a  mother  who, 
in  joy  and  sorrow,  in  health  and  sickness,  was 
their  guide,  their  refuge,  their  comforter,  their 
all. 

But  what  a  sweet  relief  to  your  overbur- 
thened  heart,  when,  as  the  evening  comes  on, 
remembering  her  last  words,  and  all  the  earn- 
est longings  of  the  mother's  heart,  you  sit  and 
talk  with  them  of  her ;  and  recount  all  her 
virtues,  all  her  wishes  and  prayers  in  their 
behalf,  and  all  her  hopes  and  aims  respecting 


232  COMFORT   THE   CHILDREN. 

their  future.  Will  not  the  hours  devoted  to 
this  grateful  service  be  blessed  to  your  own 
consolation,  and  establish  a  holy  communion 
between  you  and  the  spirit  of  their  sanctified 
mother?  In  leading  their  thoughts  up  to  her, 
will  not  your  own  heart  go  with  them  ?  Will 
not  heaven  become  more  real  to  you,  and  her 
spirit  seem  nearer,  and  be  nearer,  and  more 
visible  to  the  clairvoyant  eye  of  faith  ?  And 
will  not  your  grief  pass  away  in  this  blessed 
fellowship  of  soul  ?  and  the  glory  of  the  future 
be  reflected  back  through  all  the  gloom  of  the 
present?  And  so,  for  this,  will  your  heart 
draw  nigh  to  the  dear  Saviour,  who  suffered 
and  died,  that  we  might  have  this  ''strong 
consolation,"  this  "hope  which  Is  as  an  anchor 
of  the  soul,  both  sure  and  steadfast,  entering 
into  that  within  the  veil."  And  thus  will  it 
be  revealed  to  you,  how  all  our  trials  and 
griefs  and  bereavements  clothe  themselves  at 
last  in  garments  of  light ;  and  become,  as  it 
were,  rounds  in  the  shining  ladder  by  whicli 
we  climb  up  to  God  and  heaven. 


COMFORT    THE    CHILDUEN.  233 

The  following  exceedingly  beautiful  and 
touching  lines,  written  some  time  since  by  one 
who  was  approaching  the  banks  of  the  river, 
are  a  most  eloquent  and  effective  expression  of 
this  thought.  They  bear  the  title  of  "The 
Dying  Wife  and  Mother." 


Lay  tlie  gem  upon  my  bosom,  let  me  feel  her  sweet,  warm  breath, 
For  a  strange  chill  o'er  me  passes,  and  I  know  that  it  is  deafh  ; 
I  would  gaze  upon  the  treasure,  scarcely  given,  before  I  go  ; 
Peel  her  rosy,  dimpled  fingers  wander  o'er  my  cheek  of  snow. 

I  am  passing  through  the  waters,  but  a  blessed  shore  appears ; 
Kneel  beside  me,  husband,  dearest,  let  me  kiss  away  thy  tears  ; 
Wrestle  with  thy  grief,  my  husband,  strive  from  midnight  until 

day; 
It  may  prove  an  angel's  blessing  when  it  vanishes  away. 

Lay  the  gem  upon  my  bosom,  'tis  not  long  she  can  be  there ; 
See  !  how  to  my  heart  she  nestles  —  'tis  the  pearl  I  love  to  wear ; 
If  in  after  years  beside  thee,  sits  another  in  my  chair  — 
Though  her  voice  be  sweeter  music,  and  her  face  than  mine  more 
fair; 

If  a  cherub  call  thee. father,  far  more  beautiful  than  this, 
Love  my  first-born  !   oh,  my  husband  !   turn  not  from  the  mother- 
less. 
Tell  her  sometimes  of  her  mother  —  you  can  call  her  by  my  name ; 
Shield  her  from  the  winds  of  sorrow  —  if  she  errs,  oh,  gently  blame  I 


234  COMFOET    THE    CHILDEEN. 

Lead  her  sometimes  where  I'm  sleeping,  I  will  answer  if  she  calls ; 
And  my  breath  will  stir  her  ringlets,  when  my  voice  in  blessing 

falls; 
And  her  soft  blue  eyes  will  brighten,  and  she'll  wonder  whence  it 

came  — 
III  her  heart  when  years  pass  o'er  her,  she  will  find  her  mother't? 

name. 

It  is  said  that  every  mortal  walks  between  two  angels  here ; 
One  records  the  ill,  but  blots  it,  if  before  the  midnight  drear 
Man  repenteth  ;  if  uncanceled  then,  he  seals  it  for  the  skies, 
And  the  right  hand  angel  weepeth,  bowing  low  with  veiled  eyes. 

I  will  be  her  right  hand  angel,  sealing  up  the  good  for  heaven, 
Striving  that  the  midnight  watches  find  no  misdeed  unforgiven ; 
You  will  not  forget  me,  husband,  when  I'm  sleeping  'neath  the  SOd, 
Love  the  jewel  God  has  given  us,  as  I  love  thee,  next  to  God. 


VII. 


Gone,  we  know  not  from  what  suffering, 

Fled,  we  know  not  from  what  sin  — 
O  ye  gates  that  open  heavenward, 

Swing  together,  shut  them  in  ! 

SAD  thing  it  is  when  a  little  child  dies, 
,  sad  for  the  loving  parents,  sad  for  the 
child's  brothers  and  sisters,  sad  for  all 
the  household.  It  was  a  sweet  little  prattler, 
the  joy  of  the  mother's  heart,  the  hope  and 
pride  of  the  father,  and  the  delight  of  all  the 
children.  It  was  so  gentle  and  loving,  so 
winning  in  its  ways,  so  intelligent  and  observ- 
ing ;  it  filled  so  large  a  space  in  the  thoughts, 
and  cares,  and  affections  of  the  mother;  it 
was  in  so  many  places  about  the  house,  it  put 


236  THE  DEATH  OF  CHILDEEN. 

SO  many  tilings  into  disorder  by  its  frolicsome 
mirth,  its  sweet  voice  made  such  music  every- 
where, it  was  so  much  company,  it  uttered 
such  wise  sayings  and  such  great  words,  and 
asked  so  many  and  such  strange  questions ; 
why  it  seems,  when  it  went  away,  as  if  it 
took  the  whole  house  with  it,  as  if  every  tiling 
was  gone,  and  only  silence  and  sorrow  left. 

Or  it  may  be  that  your  child  was  no  longer 
a  little  child,  but  had  passed  on  to  half  a  score 
or  more  of  years  —  a  pleasant,  manly,  robust 
boy,  full  of  life,  full  of  generous  impulses, 
genial,  aiFectionate,  ambitious,  always  hopeful 
and  happy,  making  the  house  merry  with  his 
songs  and  jests,  — 

Or,  perhaps,  the  opposite  of  this  in  some 
things,  he  might  have  been  a  quiet,  thought- 
ful, retiring  lad ;  never  very  strong,  never 
fond  of  the  rough  sports  of  boys  brimming 
over  with  animal  life  ;  loving  the  house  better 
than  the  street,  fond  of  his  books,  living  a 
kind  of  dreamy  life,  often  speaking  of  religious 
things,    asking   mother    strange    questions    of 


THE  DEATH  OF  CHILDREN.  237 

God  and  heaven  and  angels  and  the  dead; 
all  his  thoughts  and  conversation,  the  pale 
spiritual  face,  and  the  frail  and  feeble  body, 
prophetic  of  an  early  departure,  — 

Or,  the  dear  child  that  has  left  you  may 
have  been  a  gentle  and  loving  daughter  ;  one 
of  those  sweet  children  we  sometimes  sec,  who 
seem  as  if  they  had  strayed  from  heaven,  and 
unknowingly  found  their  Vv^ay  doAvn  to  earth  ; 
and,  with  a  half-homesick  feeling,  were  waiting 
patiently  for  the  INIessenger  to  come  and  take 
them  home  again.  She  went  about  the  house 
so  lightly  and  pleasantly,  that  she  seemed  to 
float  like  a  spirit  rather  than  to  walk ;  a  soft 
smile  ever  lighting  up  her  expressive  features, 
never  without  a  flower  in  her  hand  or  in  her 
hair,  or  somewhere  about  her  dress  ;  secreted 
oftentimes  for  hours  alone  in  some  hidden 
corner,  in  the  house,  in  the  garden,  among 
the  shrubbery,  murmuring  in  low  voice  some 
pleasant  strain  of  music,  reading,  or  fondHng 
some  pet;  or  perhaps  w^hoUy  absorbed  in 
thoughts  beyond  her  years,  — 


238  THE  DEATH  OF  CHILDREN. 

Of  such  sort  as  one  of  these  may  have  been 
the  child  that  Death  has  taken  in  his  arms 
and  borne  away  from  you  —  and  O  what  a 
difference  it  has  made  in  your  home  and  your 
heart !  How  it  has  chanc^ed  the  tone  and 
color  of  your  thoughts,  and  taken  the  warmth 
and  beauty  out  of  your  life,  and  darkened  all 
the  hopes  and  ambitions  that  were  linked  in 
with  the  future  of  the  beloved  child.  How 
tasteless  and  unsatisfying  is  all  pleasure,  how 
dull  and  uninteresting  the  book  you  are  read- 
ing, how  little  you  sympathize  in  the  idle  talk 
of  your  visitors,  how  everything  in  the  world 
has  lost  its  point  and  meaning  for  you. 

But,  after  all,  is  this  as  it  should  be?  Is 
this  such  an  expression  of  confidence  and  sub- 
mission toward  your  Heavenly  Father,  as  he 
is  entitled  to  ?  Is  this  a  state  of  mind  and 
heart  becoming  a  Christian  believer?  And 
does  it  show  that  self-appropriation  of  the 
blessed  promises  of  God,  and  of  the  sweet 
consolations  of  Christ,  which  we  have  a  right 
to  expect  from   one  who  has  so  long  enjoyed 


THE  DEATH  OF  CHILDREN.  239 

the  benefits   of  religious  instruction,   and  all 
the  privileges  of  the  Lord's  sanctuary? 

Has  not  God  taken  the  child  you  love  so 
tenderly  to  heaven,  to  immortal  life  and  bles- 
sedness? and  does  not  jouv  grief  therefore 
border  on  the  selfish  ?  Do  you  not  lose  sight 
of  what  your  child  has  gained,  in  your  blind 
lamentation  for  what  you  have  lost  ?  Surely 
*'it  is  well  with  the  child,"  and  ought  not  this 
to  soothe  you  and  comfort  3'ou?  It  is  lifted 
out  of  all  sorrow  and  suffering  forevermore, 
and  is  not  this  something  to  be  thankful  for? 
Why  then  this  utter  desolation  of  heart,  this 
weeping  as  though  nothing  were  left  you  to 
be  thankful  for  ? 

It  is  said  of  the  lady  of  Sir  Stamford 
Kaffles,  in  India,  that  she  was  overwhelmed 
with  grief  for  the  loss  of  a  favorite  child,  and 
was  unable  to  bear  even  the  light  of  day. 
She  was  lying  on  her  couch,  with  a  feeling  of 
desolation  that  was  fast  growing  into  despair, 
when  she  was  addressed  by  a  poor,  ignorant 
woman,  one  of  the  native  converts,  who  had 


240  THE  DEATH  OF  CHILDPvEN". 

been  employed  In  the  nursery  :  '^I  am  come," 
said  the  woman,  ''because  you  have  been  here 
many  days  shut  up  in  a  dark  room,  and  no 
one  dares  to  come  near  you.  Are  you  not 
ashamed  to  grieve  In  this  manner,  when  you 
ought  to  be  thanking  God  for  having  given 
you  the  most  beautiful  child  that  ever  was 
seen?  Did  any  one  ever  see  him  or  speak  of 
him  without  admiring  him  ?  And  Instead  of 
letting  this  child  remain  in  this  world  till  he 
should  be  worn  out  with  trouble  and  sorrow, 
has  not  God  taken  him  to  heaven  In  all  his 
beauty  ?  For  shame  !  leave  off  weeping,  and 
let  me  open  a  window." 

What  a  lesson  there  Is  here  for  you  !  How 
much  Is  there  In  that  thought,  that  perhaps 
the  child  is  taken  away  from  the  evil  to  come. 
At  any  rate,  now  there  are  no  more  anxieties 
In  this  regard  on  your  part,  no  more  fears  nor 
tremblings  lest  it  may  be  the  prey  of  disease, 
or  fall  into  evil,  or  be  led  away  into  some 
temptation.  All  this  Is  over  now ;  the  pure- 
minded    and   generous    boy,    the   gentle    and 


THE  DEATH  OF  CHILDREN.  241 

lovely  girl,  are  safely  removed  from  all  these 
perils ;  and  in  all  their  freshness  and  beauty, 
before  they  kncAv  any  real  wrong  or  sorrow, 
they  are  walking  with  the  angels. 

They  at  least  are  safe  from  falling 

On  the  battle-field  of  life, 
Overcome,  as  thousands  have  been 

By  temptation,  care,  and  strife  ; 
And  have  died  with  hands  close  gathered 

In  the  tender  clasp  of  ours  — 
God  be  thanked  that  we  could  fold  them 

Pure  as  snow,  and  full  of  flowers  ! 

So,  with  Love's  divinest  token, 

Yielded  to  a  tenderer  care 
Than  the  home  below  could  give  them, 

Or  our  human  weakness  bear. 
They  are  safe  from  pain  and  sorrow  ; 

Cheerfully  we'll  bear  the  rod, 
With  these  blossoms  safely  nurtured 

In  the  garden  of  our  God. 

But  they  were  so  dear  to  us,  so  young  and 
beautiful,  just  opening  Into  life ;  and  they 
would  have  been  such  a  comfort  and  a  joy  to 
us  if  they  had  lived  —  we  cannot  help  mourn- 
ing for  their  death ;  it  is  so  hard  to  see  the 
sweet  blossoms  wither  and  fall.  Yes,  this  is 
16 


242  THE  DEATH  OF  CHILDREN. 

true ;  and  it  brings  to  me  anotlier  thought 
which  h'dS  sometimes  risen  within  me,  when 
meditating  on  the  death  of  children.  I  have 
compared  them  to  young  trees  in  a  nursery, 
set  out  only  for  a  time,  for  the  express  pur- 
pose of  being  removed,  and  at  the  fitting  sea- 
son transphmted  tio  another  and  more  suitable 
place,  where  they  may  grow  into  symmetry, 
beauty  and  fruitage,  without  hindrance  or  in- 
terruption. Is  it  not  so  with  children,  trans- 
planted from  earth  to  heaven,  only  that  they 
may  grow  into  larger  life,  and  expand  into 
greater  beauty  and  glory,  free  from  all  the 
defects  and  imperfections  of  this  lower  world? 
And  is  it  npt  with  God,  as  with  the  gardener, 
that  he  sometimes,  for  special  reasons,  selects 
the  fairest,  the  most  symmetrical  and  promis- 
ing for  removal  and  transplantation? 

But  let  us  hear  again  a  writer  already 
quoted,  who  says  in  the  true  spirit  of  resigna- 
tion and  faith, 

*«When  God  gives  me  a  babe,  I  say,  <I 
thank   God  for  this  lamp   lit  in  my  family.* 


THE  DEATH  OF  CHILDREN .  243 

And  wlien,  after  it  has  been  a  light  in  my 
household  for  one  or  two  years,  it  pleases 
God  to  take  it  away,  I  can  take  the  cup  bitter 
or  sweet :  I  can  say,  *  My  light  is  gone  out ; 
my  heart  is  sacked  ;  my  hopes  are  desolated  ; 
my  child  is  lost  —  my  child  is  lost ! '  or  I  can 
say  in  the  spirit  of  Job,  'The  Lord  gave,  and 
the  Lord  hath  taken  away ;  blessed  be  the 
name  of  the  Lord.*  It  has  pleased  God  to 
take  five  children  from  me ;  but  I  never  lost 
one,  and  never  shall.  When  I  have  a  child 
that  Christ  covets,  with  a  divine  coveting,  and 
he  says  to  me,  in  words  of  tenderness,  'Will 
you  not  give  me  the  child,  and  let  me  take 
care  of  it,  instead  of  yourself?'  my  flesh  may 
remonstrate,  but  my  heart  says,  *  Lord,  take 
it  and  adopt  it.'  I  have  lived  long  enough 
since  the  taking  away  of  my  children,  to  find 
that  it  is  better  as  it  is,  than  that  they  should 
have  remained  with  me. 

'*As  believers  in  Christianity,  which  reveals 
God  as  our  Father,  and  heaven  as  our  eternal 
home,  it  is  our  privilege  to  feel  that  when  our 


244  THE  DEATH  OF  GHILDREX. 

children  are  taken  from  us,  tliej  are  not  lost 
to  us,  but  only  pass  on  before  us  to  the 
spirit  world,  to  become  angelic  beings  around 
the  burnini};  throne  of  G(xl  and  tlie  Lamb, 
Jesus  declared  that  of  such  is  the  kingdom  of 
heaven.  They  have  gone  up  to  live  with  the 
crowned  immortals,  to  be  watched  for  and 
cared  for  by  the  angels  of  light,  and  we 
doubt  not  that  they  will  be  among  the  first 
to  welcome  us  among  the  shining  courts  on 
High." 

What  a  pleasing  and  consoling  truth,  that 
the  little  one  whom  you  folded  to  your  heart 
with  such  fervent  tenderness,  is  waiting  over 
the  river  to  welcome  you  with  even  greater 
affection,  greater  because  it  is  divine  and  ever- 
lasting. How  delightful  the  thought  that  you 
have  a  child  in  heaven !  Perhaps  hitherto 
heaven  has  been  in  your  thought  as  a  kind  of 
foreign  land,  afar  off,  in  which  you  had  little 
or  no  interest,  and  about  which  you  had  no 
desire  to  hear.  You  had  no  friends  there ; 
no  member  of  your  family  was  a  dweller  in 


THE  DEATH  OF  CHILDEEN.  245 

that  seemingly  distant  region ;  no  treasure  of 
yours  was  laid  up  there. 

But  now,  how  diiTerent !  ;N'ow,  that  your 
dear  child  has  gone  to  reside  there,  heaven  is 
no  longer  a  foreign  country,  no  longer  afar 
off,  but  near  to  you.  And  you  tliink  of  it 
constantly,  and  love  to  hear  and  talk  about  it, 
and  when  the  time  comes  you  Vvlll  go  with 
sweet  anticipations  of  meeting,  and  being  wel- 
comed by,  your  angel  child, 

"Sometime  ago,"  says  a  pleasing  writer, 
*'  I  was  at  the  funeral  of  the  child  of  a  pastor ; 
and  when  the  neighboring  minister,  who  had 
been  called  to  bury  his  brother's  child,  had 
closed  his  words  of  sympathy  and  comfort, 
the  stricken  father  rose  —  the  house  In  which 
we  were  assembled  stood  on  a  hillside,  over- 
looking a  beautiful  river,  and  on  the  other 
side  'sweet  fields  stood  dressed  In  livlno- 
green.'"  The  pastor  went  on  to  say  —  and 
there  was  a  strange  power  and  beauty  In  the 
words  as  they  fell  from  his  lips  in  the  midst 
of  tears  —  ' '  Often,    as  I  have  stood  on  the 


246  THE  DEATH  OF  CHILDRElSi , 

borders  of  this  stream,  and  looked  over  to  the 
fair  fields  on  the  other  shore,  I  have  felt  but 
little  interest  in  the  people  or  the  place  in  full 
view  before  me.  The  river  separates  me  from 
them,  and  my  thoughts  and  affections  were 
here.  But  a  few  months  ago  one  of  my  chil- 
dren moved  across  to  the  other  side,  and  took 
up  his  residence  there.  Since  that  time  my 
heart  has  been  there  also.  In  the  morning 
when  I  rise  and  look  out  toward  the  east,  I 
think  of  my  child  who  is  over  there ;  and 
again  and  again  through  the  day  I  think  of 
him,  and  the  other  side  of  the  river  is  always 
in  my  thoughts  with  the  child  who  has  gone 
there  to  dwell.  And  now  since  another  of 
my  children  has  crossed  the  river  of  death, 
and  has  gone  to  dwell  on  the  other  side,  my 
heart  is  drawn  out  toward  heaven  and  the 
inhabitants  of  heaven,  as  it  was  never  drawn 
before.  I  supposed  that  heaven  was  dear  to 
me  ;  that  my  Father  was  there,  and  my  friends 
were  there,  and  that  I  had  a  great  interest  in 
heai^en  —  but  I  had  no  child  there  !     Now  I 


THE  DEATH  OF  CHILDREN.  247 

have ;  and  I  never  think  and  never  shall  think 
of  heaven,  but  with  the  memory  of  that  dear 
child  who  is  to  be  among  its  inhabitants 
forever." 

In  the  Scottish  hills  as  a  Shepherd  strolled 

In  the  eve  "with  his  ancient  crook, 
He  found  a  lamb  that  was  young  and  chilled 

By  the  side  of  a  purling  brook. 

And  fearing  the  lamb  might  sicken  and  die  — 
Or  from  its  mother's  side  might  roam  — 

He  carried  it  up  with  a  tender  care 
To  a  fold  in  his  highland  home. 

'Mid  the  dreary  night  —  o'er  the  craggy  peaks  — 
Through  the  winds,  and  the  storms  and  cold. 

The  mother  followed  her  captured  lamb 
To  the  door  of  the  Shepherd's  fold. 

Once  we  had  a  lamb  by  its  mother's  side  — 

It  was  artless  and  pure  and  mild  — 
The  dearest  lamb  in  our  own  dear  flock, 

Was  the  pale  little  blue-eyed  child  ! 

But  a  shepherd  came  when  the  sun  grew  low, 

By  a  path  that  has  long  been  trod, 
And  carried  our  lamb  through  the  mists  of  night, 

To  his  fold  in  the  Mount  of  God. 

With  a  tearful  eye  and  a  bleeding  heart, 

We  must  bear  it  and  struggle  on  ; 
Must  climb  the  mount  by  the  Shepherd's  track, 

To  the  fold  where  our  lamb  is  gone. 


.  VIII. 


The  departed !  the  departed  ! 

They  visit  us  in  dreams  ; 
And  they  glide  above  our  memories, 
I  Like  shadows  over  streams  : 

We  know  that  they  are  happy, 

With  their  augel  plumage  on, 
But  our  hearts  are  very  desolate 

To  think  that  they  are  gone. 

^/N  almost  every  household  there  is  cher- 
51)  ished  the  memory  of  some  dear  soul  that 
^^  has  gone  out  to  return  no  more.  The 
mother  tenderly  remembers  her  babe ;  the 
father  thinks  regretfully  of  his  manly  son, 
whose  youth  was  so  full  of  promise ;  the  chil- 
dren grieve  for  the  loss  of  a  sweet  and  gentle 
sister,  or  a  dear  brother,  a  brave  and  generous 
boy,  whose  faults   are  all  forgotten,   and  his 


•  THE  MEMORY  OF  THE  DEAD.     249 

virtues  all  remembered.  In  every  home  there 
is  an  enshrined  memory,  a  sacred  relic,  a  ring, 
a  lock  of  shining  hair,  a  broken  plaything,  a 
book,  a  picture,  something  sacredly  kept  and 
guarded,  which  speaks  of  death,  which  tells 
as  plainly  as  words,  of  some  one  long  since 
gone.     For,  truly, 

There  is  no  flock,  however  watched  and  tended, 

But  one  dead  lamb  is  there ! 
There  is  no  fireside,  howsoe'er  defended, 

But  has  one  vacant  chair  ! 

It  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  traits  of  our 
humanity,  this  tender  memory  of  the  dead ; 
this  quick  forgetfulness  of  all  that  was  un- 
pleasant, and  this  eager  calling  up  of  every 
grace  and  beauty,  of  every  gentle  and  winning 
thing  in  the  character  and  life  of  the  departed. 
Some  one  has  truly  said :  *  *  Let  death  take 
from  the  household  the  troublesome  and  un- 
governable child,  and  all  that  is  remembered 
is  his  sweet  and  gentle  words,  his  rare  quali- 
ties, his  loving  way,  his  beauty  and  manli- 
ness.    The   cliild  stands   before   his  parent's 


250  THE  3IEM0RY  OF  THE  DEAD. 

eyes,  not  as  what  he  was,  but  as  what  he 
might  have  been  had  all  God  put  in  him  been 
perfected  by  love  and  grace.  He  is  now 
always  *  dear  child'  in  their  thought,  and  no 
longer  selfish  and  unlovely.  The  children 
long  for  their  dead  companion  with  real  and 
tender  grief — they  would  be  pleasanter  were 
he  back  again  ;  they  are  surprised  to  find  how 
much  they  loved  him.  Friends  long  to  have 
the  opportunity,  now  lost,  to  show  their  love. 
Why  did  I  not  prize  him  more  —  why  did  I 
not  serve  him  better,  is  the  universal  feeling." 

And  this  is  equally  true  of  all,  as  well  as 
of  children.  Death  seams  to  sanctify  all  our 
thoughts  of  the  departed ;  we  willingly  forget 
the  evil,  and  remember  only  the  good  there 
was  in  them.  There  is  a  sweet  expression  of 
this  feeling,  this  sacred  memory  of  the  dead, 
in  a  passage  from  Washington  Irving,  which 
follows  : 

* '  The  sorrow  for  the  dead  is  the  only  sor- 
rov\^  from  which  we  refuse  to  be  divorced. 
Every  other  would  we  seek  to  heal  —  every 


THE  MEMORY  OF  THE  DEAD.     251 

other  affliction  to  forget ;  but  this  wound  we 
consider  it  a  duty  to  keep  open — this  afflic- 
tion we  cherish   and  brood   over  in   solitude. 
Where  is  the  mother  who  would  willingly  for- 
get the  infant  that  perished  like  a  blossom 
from  her  arms,  though  every  recollection  is  a 
pang  ?     Where  is   the   child  who  would  wil- 
lingly   forget    the    most    tender    of   parents, 
thouo^h  to  remember  be  but  to  lament?    Who, 
even  in  the  hour  of  agony,  would  forget  the 
friend  over  whom  he  mourns?     Who,   even 
w^ien  the  tomb   is  closing  upon  the  remains 
of   her    he    most   loved,    when   he   feels   his 
heart   as  it  were,   crushed  in  the   closing  of 
its  portal,   would   accept   of  consolation  that 
must  be  bought  by  forgetfulness  ?      No  ;  the 
love  which  survives  the  tomb   is  one  of  the 
noblest  attributes  of  the  soul.     It  has  its  woes, 
it   likewise   has    its  delights;    and  when  the 
overwhelming  burst   of  grief  is   calmed  into 
the   gentle    tear    of   recollection  —  when    the 
sudden  anguish  and  the  convulsive  agony  over 
the  present  ruins  of  all  that  we  most  loved, 


252     THE  MEMOKY  OF  THE  DEAD. 

is  softened  away  into  pensive  meditation  on 
all  that  it  was  in  the  days  of  its  loveliness  — 
who  would  root  out  the  sorrow  from  the 
heart?  Though  it  may  sometimes  throw  a 
passing  cloud  over  the  bright  hour  of  gayety, 
or  spread  a  deeper  sadness  over  the  hour  of 
gloom,  yet  who  would  change  it  even  for  the 
song  of  pleasure,  or  the  burst  of  revelry? 
No ;  there  is  a  voice  from  the  tomb  sweeter 
than  song.  There  is  a  remembrance  of  the 
dead,  to  which  we  turn  even  from  the  charms 
of  the  living.  Oh,  the  grave  !  the  grave  !  It 
buries  every  error  —  covers  every  defect,  ex- 
tinguishes every  resentment !  From  its  peace- 
ful bosom  spring  none  but  fond  regrets  and 
tender  recollections." 

Who  that  has  ever  been  bereaved  has  not 
realized  this  in  his  own  experience ;  and  felt 
that  there  is  a  sorrow  better  for  him,  dearer 
to  him,  than  any  joy  the  world  can  give. 
Who  that  Ijias  ever  lost  a  beloved  one,  a  child, 
a  parent,  a  friend,  has  not  sometime  realized 
that,   dead,   they  have   become  more   to   him 


THE  MEMORY  OF  THE  DEcYD.  253 

than  tliey  ever  could  have  been  living  —  nay, 
that,  dead,  they  have  done  more  for  him, 
blessed  him  more,  lifted  him  nearer  to  God 
and  the  heavenly  life,  than  they  could  ever 
have  done  while  in  the  body.  O  yes,  the 
memory  of  the  dead  often  has  for  us  a  sancti- 
fying power  which  the  presence  of  the  living, 
however  sweet  their  communion,  never  had ; 
and  in  our  frequent  thought  of  them,  we  find 
that  our  hearts  and  hopes  are  slowly  disen- 
tangling themselves  '  frona  the  earthly,  and 
steadily  drifting  heavenward. 

* '  How  beautiful  is  the  memory  of  the  dead  ! 
Wliat  a  holy  thing  it  is  in  the  human  heart, 
and  what  a  chastening  influence  it  sheds  upon 
human  life !  How  it  subdues  all  the  harsh- 
ness that  grows  up  within  us  in  the  daily 
intercourse  Avith  the  world !  How  it  melts 
our  unkindness,  softens  our  pride,  kindling 
our  deepest  love,  and  waking  our  highest 
aspirations  !  Is  there  one  who  has  not  some 
loved  friend  gone  into  the  eternal  world,  with 
whom  he  delights  to  live  again  in  memory  ? 


254  TPIE  MEMORY  OF  THE  DEAD. 

Does  he  not  love  to  sit  down  in  the  hushed 
and  tranquil  hours  of  existence,  and  call 
around  him  the  face,  the  form,  so  familiar  and 
cherished  ? 

« '  The  blessed  dead  !  how  free  from  stain  is 
our  love  for  them  !  The  earthly  taint  of  our 
affections  is  buried  with  that  which  was  corrup- 
tible, and  the  divine  flame  in  its  purity  illu- 
mines our  breast.  We  have  now  no  fear  of 
losing  them.  They  are  fixed  for  us  eternally 
in  the  mansions  prepared  for  our  re-union. 
Our  hearts  are  sanctified  by  their  words  which 
we  remember.  How  wise  they  have  now 
irrown  in  the  limitless  fields  of  truth.  How 
joyous  they  have  become  by  the  undying 
fountains  of  pleasure.  The  immortal  dead ! 
how  unchanging  is  their  love  for  us.  How 
tenderly  they  look  down  upon  us,  and  how 
closely  they  surround  our  being.  How  earn- 
estly they  rebuke  the  e^'il  of  our  lives. 

'*Let  men  talk  pleasantly  of  the  dead,  as 
those  who  no  longer  suffer  and  are  tried  —  as 
those  who  pursue  no  longer  the  fleeting,  but 


THE  MEMORY  OF  THE  DEAD.     255 

have  grasped  and  secured  the  real.  With 
them  the  fear  and  the  longings,  the  hope,  and 
the  terror,  and  tlic  pain  are  past :  the  fruition 
of  life  has  begun.  Row  unkind,  that  when 
we  put  away  their  bodies,  vre  should  cease  the 
utterance  of  their  names.  The  tender-hearted 
dead  who  struggled  so  In  parting  from  us  ! 
why  should  we  speak  of  them  In  awe,  and 
remember  them  only  with  sighing?  Very 
dear  were  they  when  hand  clasped  hand,  and 
heart  responded  to  heart.  Why  are  they  less 
dear  when  they  have  grown  worthy  a  higher 
love  than  ours,  and  their  perfected  souls 
might  receive  even  our  adoration  !  By  their 
hearth-side,  and  -by  their  grave-side,  in  soh- 
tude,  and  amid  the  multitude,  think  cheer- 
fully and  speak  lovingly  of  the  dead." 

**  The  dead  are  like  the  stars  by  day, 

Withdrawn  from  mortal  eye, 
Tet  holding  unperceived  their  way 

Through  the  unclouded  sky. 
By  them,  through  holy  hope  and  lovo, 

We  feel  in  hours  serene 
Connected  with  a  world  above, 

Immortal  and  unseen." 


IX. 

t  IBjair  ntto  (iwfo 


Many  years  the  dust  hath  lain 

Smoothly  o'er  that  marble  face, 
And  the  busy  world  without 

Of  his  presence  bears  no  trace ; 
But  in  faithful  hearts  he  lives, 

Young  as  when  on  earth  he  trod, 
Though  a  holy  spirit  now, 

Standing  by  the  throne  of  God. 

HE  dead  are  the  only  people  who  never 
grow  old.  The  man  of  four-score  years 
and  more  remembers  his  father  and 
mother  as  they  were  in  his  youth  or  childhood. 
If  they  died  when  he  had  numbered  only  half 
a  score  of  years,  he  does  not  in  his  thought 
of  them  add  to  their  age  the  three-score  and 
ten  years  which  he  has  lived  since.  At  eighty 
they  are  the  same  to  him  as  when  he  was  ten ; 


THE  DEAD  NEVER  GROW  OLD.    257 

they  have  not  changed  at  all  since  the  day 
they  died.  Through  all  the  toils  and  conflicts 
and  sorrows  of  seventy  years,  the  sweet  face 
of  his  sainted  mother  has  hung  in  the  portrait 
gallery  of  his  memory,  as  fi-esh  and  fair  as 
when  he  took  his  last  look  of  her. 

That  manly  and  graceful  youth,  though  he 
died  long  time  ago,  is  the  same  in  the  thought 
of  his  father ;  every  lineament,  every  look, 
every  expression  of  the  face.  The  father  him- 
self has  grown  old,  and  is  beginning  to  bend 
under  the  weight  of  years ;  but  the  son  is  still 
a  young  man,  as  fair  in  look,  as  erect  in  form, 
as  elastic  in  step,  as  ever — and  he  will  always 
be  so  to  his  father. 

And  so  with  the  mother  and  her  babe.  The 
child  dies,  and  is  always  a  child  thenceforth. 
Half  a  century  may  go  by,  but  it  adds  noth- 
ing to  the  age  of  the  little  prattler,  who  left 
her  far  back  as  long  ago  as  that.  Leigh  Hunt 
says,  with  truth,  that  **  those  who  have  lost 
an  infant  are  never,  as  it  were,  without  an 
infant  child.  They  are  the  only  persons  who, 
17 


258     THE  DEAD  NEVER  GROW  OLD. 

in  one  sense,  retain  it  always,  and  they  fur- 
nish their  neighbors  with  the  same  idea.  The 
other  children  grow  up  to  manhood  and  wo- 
manhood, and  suffer  all  the  changes  of  mor- 
tality. This  one  is  rendered  an  immortal 
child.  Death  has  arrested  it  with  his  kindly 
harshness,  and  blessed  it  into  an  eternal  image 
of  youth  and  innocence."  And  the  words  of 
Ainsworth  are  as  truthful  as  they  are  beauti» 
ful,  when  he  says,  "the  little  boy  that  died, 
so  long  ago,  is  an  eternal  child ;  and  even  as 
he  crept  over  the  threshold  of  God's  gates 
ajar  at  the  beckoning  of  the  Lord ;  so  ever  in 
the  heart  his  parting  look,  with  heaven  shin- 
ing full  upon  his  brow,  the  beauty  that  the 
heart  grew  warm  beholding,  remains  un- 
touched by  time,  even  as  the  unrent  sky  that 
let  the  wanderer  in." 

Tliis  is  one  of  God's  kindly  compensations 
for  the  loss  which  death  inflicts.  The  be- 
reaved only  have  friends  who  never  change. 
The  fair-haired  lad  who  went  away  in  the 
flower  of  his  age,  never  grows  to  manhood  or 


THE  DEAD  NEVER  GROW  OLD.     259 

age  in  the  memory  of  his  brothers  or  sisters  ; 
and  the  gentle  girl  who  fell  asleep  in  death, 
however  long  ago,  still  holds  her  place  in 
their  hearts,  as  young,  as  gladsome,  as  win- 
ning, as  lovely  as  before  the  angel  called  her. 
The  opening  bud  remains  in  all  its  beauty  and 
sweetness ;  and  it  will  never  pass  into  the 
full-blown  rose,  and  fade  and  droop,  and  cast 
its  withered  leaves  to  the  earth. 

The  Country  Parson  has  a  passage  which 
illustrates  this  peculiar  feature  in  our  thought 
of  the  dead  : 

*'Your  little  brother  or  sister,  that  died 
long  ago,  remains  in  death,  and  in  remem- 
brance the  same  young  thing  forever.  It  is 
fourteen  years  this  evening  since  the  writer's 
sister  left  this  world.  She  was  fifteen  years 
old  then  —  she  is  fifteen  years  old  yet.  I 
have  grown  older  since  by  fourteen  years,  but 
she  has  never  changed  as  they  advanced ;  and 
if  God  spares  me  to  four-score,  I  never  shall 
think  of  her  as  other  than  the  youthful  crea- 
ture she  was  when  she  faded.     The  other  day 


260     THE  DEAD  NEVER  GROW  OLD. 

I  listened  as  a  poor  woman  told  of  the  death 
of  her  first-born  child.  He  was  two  years 
old.  She  had  a  small  washing-green,  across 
which  was  stretched  a  rope  that  came,  in  the 
middle,  close  to  the  ground.  The  boy  was 
leaning  on  the  rope,  swinging  backwards  and 
forwards,  and  shouting  with  delight.  The 
mother  went  into  her  cottage,  and  lost  sight 
of  him  for  a  minute ;  and  when  she  returned 
the  little  man  was  lying  across  the  rope,  dead. 
It  had  got  under  his  cliin :  he  had  not  sense 
to  push  it  away ;  and  he  was  suffocated. 

<'But  the  thing  which  mainly  struck  me 
was,  that  though  it  is  eighteen  years  since 
then,  the  mother  thought  of  her  cliild  as  an 
infant  of  two  years  yet :  it  is  a  little  child  she 
looks  for  to  meet  her  at  the  gate  of  the  Golden 
City.  Had  her  child  lived  he  would  have 
been  twenty  years  old  now ;  he  died,  and  he 
is  only  two  :  he  is  two  yet ;  he  will  never  be 
more  than  two.  The  little  rosy  face  of  that 
morning,  and  the  little  half-articulate  voice, 
would  have  been  faintly  remembered  by  the 


THE  DEAD  NEVER  GROW  OLD.    261 

mother  had  they  gradually  died  into  boyhood 
and  manhood  ;  but  that  day  stereotyped  them  : 
they  remain  unchanged." 

The  poem  which  follows  is  a  tender  expres- 
sion of  this  thought ;  and  reveals  the  pleasing 
fact,  that  the  < kittle  maiden,"  dying,  is  always 
a  little  maiden,  and  the  «« little  vacant  chair" 
ever  after  sacred  to  her  memory. 

still  my  heart  and  eyes  are  turning 

To  a  little  vacant  chair, 
Standing  idly  in  the  coriKr  — 

Ever  standing  idly  there : 
Once  it  held  a  little  maiden. 

Very  dear  and  very  fair. 


In  the  fullest  tide  of  rapture, 
In  my  life's  serenest  hour, 

When  my  spirit  sang  within  me 
Like  a  bird  in  summer  bower, 

Came  a  tempest  sweeping  o'er  me. 
Came  with  desolating  power. 

Then  a  voice  of  tender  sweetness 
Died  away  in  plaintive  sighs  •, 

Then  a  face  of  gentle  beauty 
Faded  from  my  yearning  eyee. 

And  a  spirit  pure  and  sinless 
Mounted  to  its  native  skies. 


2&2  THE  DEAD  NEVER  GEOW  OM). 

Oh, !  the  sorrow  of  that  moment ; 

Oh  !  the  weary,  weary  pain, 
Pressing,  like  an  iron  fetter, 

Close  on  throbbing  heart  and  brain, 
Waking  thoughts  of  gloom  and  madness 

Like  the  captive's  heaTy  chain. 

Tears  have  passed,  and  griefs  wild  torrent 
Now  hath  slowly  ebbed  away  ; 

Tears  have  passed,  and  resignation. 
Smiling,  bids  me  trust  and  pray } 

Tet  a  memory,  sad  and  sacred, 
Trembles  at  my  heart  alway. 

liver  as  the  shades  of  twilight 
TTrap  the  world  in  tender  gloom, 

Comes  a  welcome,  fairy  vision, 
Stealing  to  my  lonely  room  — 

Seeming,  like  a  ray  of  sunshine, 
All  the  darkness  to  illume. 

Then  the  little  chair  beside  me 
Rocketh  softly  to  and  fro  ; 

Then  fond  eyes  to  mine  are  lifted ; 
Then  sweet  accents  round  me  flow. 

Till  again  my  dreaming  spirit 
Drinks  the  bliss  of  long  ago. 


miUu  of  f  taa,"  0r  % 
^laa  of  t^t  gjair. 


'  They  shall  be  Mine."    0,  lay  them  dovm  to  slumber, 

Calm  in  the  strong  assurance  that  he  gives  ; 
He  calls  them  by  their  names,  he  knows  their  number, 
And  they  shall  live  as  surely  as  he  lives. 

HE  Scriptural  record  in  Genesis  xxiii. 
is  pleasantly  related  to  the  title  of  this 
section:  **And  the  field  of  Ephron, 
which  was  in  Machpelah,  which  was  before 
Mamre,  the  field,  and  the  cave  which  was 
therein,  and  all  the  trees  that  were  in  the 
field,  that  were  in  all  the  borders  round  about, 
were  made  sure  unto  Abraham,  for  a  posses- 
sion of  a  burying-plaoe  by  the  sons  of  Heth.'' 
It  is  worthy  of  note,  the  care  which  was  taken 
at   tliis    early  period   to   secure  suitable  and 


264    <<THE  VALLEY  OF  PEACE /'  OJS 

pleasant  places  for  the  burial  of  the  dead.  It 
is  easy  to  see  that  the  spot  selected  by  the 
patriarch  was  retired,  rural  and  pleasant  to 
the  eye.  Not  only  the  cave  is  mentioned,  but 
the  field,  or  rural  district,  in  which  it  is  sit- 
uated; and  special  mention  is  made  of  the 
trees,  not  only  in  the  field  itself,  but  those 
also  that  were  ''in  aU  the  borders  round 
about."  It  would  seem  as  if  special  contract 
had  been  made  by  Abraham  that  the  border 
trees  should  be  spared,  or  be  left  standing,  to 
add  to  the  beauty,  the  quiet,  and  agreeable- 
ness  of  the  place  where  his  dead  were  to  be 
laid  to  their  rest. 

And  we  find  it  afterward  recorded  that  his 
family  were  buried  in  this  lovely  cemetery ; 
his  son,  and  his  son's  son,  and  their  wives. 
When  Jacob  drew  nigh  unto  death  he  charged 
his  sons,  saying,  '*I  am  to  be  gathered  unto 
my  people :  bury  me  with  my  fathers  in  the 
cave  that  is  in  the  field  of  Machpelah,  which  is 
before  Mamre,  in  the  land  of  Canaan,  which 
Abraham  bought  for  a  possession  of  a  burying- 


THE  PLACE  OF  THE  DEAD.  265 

place.  There  they  buried  Abraham  and  Sarah 
liis  wife ;  there  they  buried  Isaac  and  Kebecca 
his  wife;  and  there  I  buried  Leah.  And 
when  Jacob  had  made  an  end  of  commanding 
his  sons,  he  gathered  up  his  feet  into  the  bed, 
and  yielded  up  the  ghost,  and  was  gathered 
unto  his  people." — Gen.  xlix.  29. 

The  Jews,  and  eastern  nations  generally, 
had  their  burial-places  and  tombs  in  the  fields, 
at  a  distance  beyond  the  city  walls,  in  gardens, 
on  the  sides  of  the  hills  —  in  any  secluded 
and  pleasant  spot  which  taste  or  affection 
might  ^x  upon  as  grateful  to  the  eye,  or  sooth- 
imr  to  the  moumino;  heart.  And  into  this 
chosen  and  sacred  place  were  gathered  ever- 
greens, and  flowers,  and  shrubbery ;  and  these 
were  vocal  with  the  ever  varying  melodies  of 
the  forest  songsters. 

Aside  from  any  opinions  respecting  the 
future  life  of  the  departed,  or  the  resurrection 
from  the  dead,  this  custom  carries  with  it  a 
pleasant  look,  and  cannot  but  have  a  soften- 
ing and  refining  influence  over  the  living.     It 


26Q  **THE  VALLEY  OF  PEACE,"  OR 

secures  one  spot  to  sacred  thought  and  holy 
memories.  It  keeps  the  chain  of  remembrance 
bright,  and  links  us  more  closely  with  the 
dead ;  and  so  beautifies  the  heart  with  an  ever 
fresh  affection,  and  a  perpetually  growing  re- 
ligious tenderness.  It  makes  the  grave  not  a 
place  of  gloom  and  despair,  not  the  quickener 
of  tears  and  bitter  sighs ;  but,  with  its  flowers 
and  fragrance,  its  spring-tide  greenness  and 
renovation,  a  teacher  of  better  hopes,  and  a 
symbol  of  the  resurrection. 

And  so  it  becomes  in  the  wide  wilderness 
of  life  a  kind  of  oasis,  cool  and  quiet,  where 
we  rest  awhile  on  the  journey  homeward 
to  heaven  and  our  Father.  The  associations 
which  gather  about  it  are  of  a  subdued  and 
cheerful  character.  The  pleasant  light  of  the 
sun  falls  softly  upon  the  perfumed  bed  where 
our  loved  ones  have  lain  down  to  sleep 
after  the  weary  march  of  life.  The  grand  old 
trees,  with  their  rich  foliage,  and  long  waving 
arms,  bend  over  it  kindly;  while  the  winds 
murmur  plaintive  strains  among  the  leaves  and 


THE  PLACE  OF  THE  DEAD.  267 

branches.  The  odorous  breath  of  flowers  is 
there,  and  their  sweet  faces  look  up  smilingly 
and  hopefully  from  the  grave  sod.  The  birds 
come  and  sing  to  the  sleepers,  and  almost  we 
can  fancy  that  their  delicious  melody  some- 
times floats  intoi  the  dreams  of  our  precious 
ones,  and  recalls  the  hours  when  we  used  to 
wander  with  them  beneath  the  forest  trees,  and 
listen  to  the  glad  notes  of  the  happy  songsters. 
There  is  a  beautiful  incident  mentioned  by  an 
eastern  traveller,  of  which  I  am  reminded 
here : — 

At  Smyrna,  the  burial  ground  of  the  Arme- 
nians, like  that  of  the  Moslem,  is  removed  a 
short  distance  from  the  town,  is  sprinkled 
with  green  trees  ;  and  is  a  favorite  resort,  not 
only  with  the  bereaved,  but  with  those  whose 
feelings  are  not  thus  darkly  overcast.  I  met 
there  one  morning  a  little  girl,  with  a  half- 
playful  countenance,  busy  blue  eye,  and  sunny 
locks,  bearing  in  one  hand  a  small  cup  of 
china,  and  in  the  other  a  wreath  of  fresh  flow- 
ers.    Feeling  a  very  natural  curiosity  to  know 


268  *'TIIE  VALLEY  OF  PEACE,"  OR 

what  she  could  do  with  these  bright  things  in 
a  place  which  seemed  to  partake  so  much  of 
sadness,  I  watched  her  light  motions.  Reach- 
ing a  retired  grave  covered  with  a  plain 
marble  slab,  she  emptied  the  seed — which  it 
appeared  the  cup  contained  —  into  the  slight 
cavities  which  had  been  scooped  out  in  the 
corners  of  the  level  tablet,  and  laid  the  wreath 
on  its  pure  face. 

*'And  why,"  I  inquired,  '*  my  sweet  girl, 
do  you  put  seed  in  those  little  bowls  there?" 

*'It  is  to  bring  the  birds  here,"  she  replied 
with  a  half-wondering  look ;  '*  they  will  light 
on  this  tree  when  they  have  eaten  the  seed, 
and  sing." 

< '  To  whom  do  they  sing,  to  you  or  to  each 
other?" 

*«0h  no!"  she  replied,  **to  my  sister  — 
she  sleeps  here." 

*'But  your  sister  is  dead?" 

*'  Oh  yes,  sir,  but  she  hears  the  birds  sing." 

*' Well,  if  she  does  hear  the  birds  sing,  she 
cannot  see  that  wreath  of  flowers." 


THE  PLACE  OF  THE  DEAD.  269 

"But  she  knows  I  put  it  there.  I  told  her, 
before  they  took  her  away  from  our  house,  I 
would  come  and  see  her  every  morning." 

*'You  must,"  I  continued,  "have  loved 
that  sister  very  much ;  but  you  will  never  talk 
with  her  any  more  —  never  see  her  again." 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  replied,  with  a  brightened 
look,  "I  shall  see  her  in  heaven." 

"But  she  has  gone  to  heaven  already.  I 
trust." 

"No,  she  stops  under  this  tree  till  they 
bring  me  here,  and  then  we  are  going  to 
heaven  together." 

It  is  matter  of  rejoicing  that  we  are  begin- 
ning to  imitate  the  example  of  the  Eastern 
nations  in  our  cemeteries  and  burial  grounds. 
We  have  witnessed  with  grateful  satisfaction 
the  change  in  this  respect  which  has  been 
gradually  passing  over  the  public  mind  and 
heart  within  a  few  years  past.  Formerly 
it  was  the  practice  to  locate  the  "burying 
ground"  in  the  most  lone,  desolate  and  barren 
epot  that  could  be  found  ;  as  if  the  very  space 


270  <'THE  VALLEY  OF  PEACE,"  OR 

the  dead  occupied  was  grudged  them.  Every 
thing  about  it  was  disagreeable  and  calculated 
to  repel.  What  inscriptions  and  epitaphs  on 
the  grave-stones  !  What  emblems  —  ghastly 
skulls,  cross-bones,  and  grim  skeletons !  all 
eminently  fitted  to  fill  the  mind,  and  particu- 
larly the  young  mind,  with  dismal  thoughts, 
and  to  make  death  and  the  grave  subjects 
most  unwelcome,  and  to  be  shunned  as  gloomy 
and  terrifying  intruders  on  the  joys  of  life. 

But  now  all  this  is  passing  away ;  and  a 
better  feeling,  and  a  more  cheerful  faith,  are 
growing  up  in  regard  to  the  dead  and  the  true 
position  and  agencies  of  death  —  and,  as  a 
consequence,  the  burial  place  is  assuming  a 
more  oriental  and  pleasant  aspect ;  is  becom- 
ing in  the  expressive  language  of  the  Mora- 
vians, *'  The  Yalley  of  Peace."  Our  Auburns 
and  Greenwoods,  our  Laurel  Hills  and  Forest 
Hills,  and  many  other  lovely  rural  spots  that 
have  been  consecrated  as  the  resting-places 
of  the  dead,  are  cultivating  a  better  taste, 
and  begetting  a  more  Christian  feeling.     And 


THE  PLACE  OF  THE  DEAD.  271 

slowly  these  beautiful  cemeteries  with  then- 
tall  and  spreading  forest  trees,  their  sweet- 
smelling  shrubbery,  their  choice  flowers  that 
have  such  a  pleasant  look,  and  seem  to  whis- 
per to  the  mourning  and  meditative  of  comfort 
and  of  great  hopes ;  with  their  significant 
emblems  instinct  and  eloquent  with  the  truth 
of  immortal  purity  and  blessedness  —  grad- 
ually, but  with  certain  result,  out  from  these, 
conjoined  with  a  nobler  and  more  cheerful 
religious  faith,  there  is  going  an  influence  cor- 
rective of  the  false  and  terrifying  views  of 
death  so  long  prevalent.  And  this  influence 
at  last  will  lift  up  the  curtain  of  clouds  from 
the  horizon  of  the  grave,  and  let  in  the  glo- 
rious splendor  of  life's  setting  sun  upon  the 
shadowy  valley,  revealing  at  the  other  end  the 
golden  gates  of  heaven  standing  open  for  the, 
entrance  of  the  liberated  and  rejoicing  soul ! 

I  do  not  forget,  as  the  preceding  pages 
show,  that  it  is  hard  to  sunder  the  ties  which 
bind  us  to  the  living ;  and  that  death  has,  at 
the  first  sight,  an  unwelcome  look,  that  the 


272 


grave  seen  through  the  mist  of  tears  seems  a 
cold  and  dark  place.  But  it  is  for  this  very 
reason  that  I  rejoice  in  the  change  which  has 
been  brought  about  in  the  arrangements  and 
appearance  of  our  burial  grounds,  and  which 
is  beginning  to  make  us  feel  that  it  is  not 
so  sad  a  thing,  after  all,  to  lay  the  weary 
body  down  to  rest  in  so  quiet  and  beautiful  a 
spot,  and  where  Nature  folds  it  to  her  bosom 
with  so  gentle  and  loving  an  embrace. 

And  we  are  comforted,  too,  in  the  thought 
that  the  sacred  dust  of  our  loved  ones  rests  in 
so  pleasant  a  place,  and  that  such  sweet  and 
hopeful  associations  and  emblems  are  gathered 
about  it.     And  we  are  ready  to  say, 


*  Bring  here  the  dead  —  a  holy  spell  pervades 

Each  grassy  dell  of  these  dim  solitudes, 
And  in  these  fragrant  bowers,  and  green  arcades, 

Religion's  deepest,  purest  influence  broods. 
Aye,  bring  them  here,  and  let  the  soulless  dust 

Rest  where  there  sounds  no  jar  of  earthly  strife, 
Where  all  things  breathe  a  gentle,  heavenly  trust. 
And  every  bud  and  leaf  with  hope  is  rife, 
And  even  death  itself  speaks  of  Immortal  Life  !  " 


DATE  DUE 

*««««« 

»St^ 

DEMCO  38-297 

